


your lips, my lips (apocalypse)

by starlinks



Series: your lips, my lips (apocalypse) [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, Family, Fluff, God!Percy, Light Angst, Multi, PJO AU, Percabeth AU, Romance, annabeth don't you know that you don't take gods home from bars? even if he is pretty and dreamy?, percabeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 68,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlinks/pseuds/starlinks
Summary: Annabeth Chase is highly functional, but even she has trouble with a sea god she accidentally took home from the bar. The worst part is that his lips taste like the apocalypse.AU, in which Annabeth is the Hero of Olympus and Percy is a god with too much free time on his hands**“Why did you want to become an architect?” A younger half-sibling asks, looking at her with admiration from gray eyes identical as her own.“I want to build something permanent.” Annabeth replies without hesitation.The camper doesn’t ask, but she sees the question in his eyes.Then why didn’t you become a god?Children of Athena ask very good questions.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Frederick Chase, Annabeth Chase & Piper McLean, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Athena & Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson), Calypso/Leo Valdez, Katie Gardner/Travis Stoll, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Series: your lips, my lips (apocalypse) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894051
Comments: 1284
Kudos: 1653
Collections: favorite on PJO





	1. your lips, my lips (apocalypse)

“If I had known your story, and felt your shadow behind me

I would of heard your melodies

In the quiet of those lonely nights”

 _I’m a Wolf_ ~Knonoba

* * *

**A/N: This is a reboot of my story _Wonderwall_ , written in 2013-2017. ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038467/chapters/4426080)) ([FFN](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9386838/1/Wonderwall))**

**[Official Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=pI9xCRzaQeyGWfQBU8PHhg) |** **my ffn[discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4)**

i.

Annabeth Chase is fully functional even when she is dead on her feet, thank you very much. She has been running on only five hours of sleep since _Sunday_ , and the six and a half cups of coffee since the SteerCo meeting this morning were six cups too many. However, for all her exhaustion, Annabeth feels that it makes _perfect_ sense for her to head to a bar instead of heading straight to her bed.

 _It’s a reward for killing it on the latest presentation on behalf of Pallas &Co. _, she tells herself, not listening to her brain’s cry for sleep or the pain in her heels from wearing a pair of brand new Cole Haans all day. She knows that she should have gone with her trusted flats, but that client was important and no matter how much it pains her to admit it, appearances _do_ matter in situations like that.

Annabeth shudders a little. Maybe Drew Tanaka from the Aphrodite cabin did manage to get into her head after all.

She misses her old days at Camp, when her best meant flipping for Daedelus’ genius designs on her laptop with one hand and using her dagger to decimate monsters with the other. Nobody cared how she looked back then.

But she doesn’t mourn for the memories of years past, for she is as content as she can be for the moment. 

Maybe not _happy_ , per say, but her experiences redesigning Olympus earned her a spot in the premiere architectural firm in downtown Manhattan after graduating from Harvard (legacy for the school was something her father was good for, she supposes). On top of that, she’s a veteran when it comes to monsters so they don’t really bother her anymore. Convenient.

Annabeth sighs. She deserves a gods damned drink and she can’t wait.

ii.

Annabeth Chase is not intimidated easily, but she feels progressively fearful of how overwhelming empty she’s been feeling lately. She’s always been looking for something -- or rather, someone -- who’s permanent and present and _there_ her whole life. This is all because of the Dr. Frederick Chase-sized (then Luke-sized, then Thalia-sized, then she doesn’t even care anymore) hole she carries in her heart.

And while technically she made peace with that, she’s been doing something quite destructive lately in an attempt to quell that feeling.

It’s not that bad, really, because other early-20 somethings all do it in the city, too. But she doesn’t consider herself as one of them. She’s not _easy_. She’s just bored. (Lonely.)

So, when a gorgeous black haired boy with sea-green eyes walks in and sits next to her in the bar, she shifts just a little on her seat to show more of her thigh through her pencil skirt, and takes him home. 

iii. 

The guy is friendly, but strange. He’s respectful, but he’s not afraid. On the way back, Annabeth can feel the thick sexual tension between them, tangible enough for a knife to cut through. It is a miracle that they make it back all the way to her apartment before kissing each other senseless.

He tells her to call him Percy, and when she asks him where he’s from he just shrugs and says “New York City is my home now” with a slight local accent that’s only acquired by years of growing up in one of the boroughs. 

She likes that he doesn't treat her like porcelain as her friends do in Camp, after she fought through Tartarus five years ago. She likes that he doesn't fear her as a Titan-killer as some new joiners do in Camp, after she made the decision to give Luke her dagger (a promise) seven years ago. She likes that strangers, as a general rule, don’t give a shit about her and her various emotional baggage.

But this one looks at her with some curious sea green eyes, and doesn't flinch when she turned around a little too fast and too forcefully around the corner of her apartment when she thinks she sees a flash of some Minotaur horns. She is halfway to drawing her dagger but he just looks at her, steadfast.

He even tells her that her one bedroom (in midtown, no less, -- thanks to the generous, generous Olympic Council funds) is nice when she hurries to kick her weapons under the couch and half-haphazardly stash away all her papers and blueprints spilled across nearly every single flat surface in sight.

Annabeth feels a little flustered, and that is _annoying_. But the boy smiles and her heart melts a little. _If only he isn’t just a one-night stand._

iv.

They are a tangled mess on Annabeth’s bed soon enough, and when Annabeth kisses him it feels like the apocalypse.

Not in a bad way, but in a way where nothing else but his lips matters at the moment because they are so soft and taste like the ocean -- and it feels like the _end of the world_ for Annabeth because for a moment, she can pretend that she is just another normal 23 year old in Manhattan doing normal young adult things on a normal Wednesday night.

In some very typically cliche sort of sense, he feels like a missing puzzle piece that she’s been looking for sometime. 

_How sad_ , Annabeth thinks idly, that she has come to relying on strangers for the occasional physical _and_ mental fulfillment? That she isn’t comfortable to pick up the phone and call Piper, or Reyna, or _somebody else_ to talk this through-- but then, another kiss from this boy (a boy so gorgeous that he can be a Greek god) swallows her and she quiets her thoughts.

Kiss now, think later.

v. ***warning*** M content in this section**

He’s on top of her, and they are still kissing, and Annabeth feels her need for him swell in every fiber of her being. Her skirt is scrunched up around her waist, and oh-- he’s kissing down her breasts (she’d taken off her top and her bra a little while ago), down her waist, almost reaching her thighs.

Gods, he knows what to do.

She still doesn’t know what this Percy’s last name is, but she enjoys his balance of reverence and force in bed, and decides that she’d tease him a little more before letting him taste more of her.

She flips them over, laying his head against her pillow, and swinging her legs over his, grinding herself against his groin. It was obvious how this boy lusts for her.

Annabeth pins his arms down above his head, and his hips arches up in protest. 

“No,” Annabeth smirks, pushing him back down. “No, my turn first.” 

He understands, looking at her with dark green eyes filled with want. They look like twin whirlpools.

With his arms still pinned, she crashes her lips back into his, careful to only shift her hips only very slightly, just enough to keep him engaged and present, brimming with desire.

“Annabeth,” he moans, and she quiets him with another kiss.

“Annabeth,” he says, louder this time, and she decides that she will let him have some of what he wants with her soon. Before that, however, she wants to tease him just one more time.

She grinds her hips on him, hard.

“Oh my gods,” he lets out, and Annabeth’s blood freezes.

She stops and really _looked_.

The boy, eyes clouded with pleasure and cheeks flushed with gold, is not a boy. He is a god.

Oh, _Hades_.

She is in bed with a god, and she nearly had sex with him. 

In a panic, all she can do is to lean in on pretense, so that as he tilts his head for a kiss, she throws a pair of Hephaestus-grade, god-proof golden cuffs on the god, linking him to her bed.


	2. how can you miss someone you’ve never met  (cause i need you now and i don’t know you yet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annabeth plays dangerous games with a beautiful, handsome sea god (who is still laying on her bed).

How can you miss someone you've never met?

('Cause I need you now but I don't know you yet)

But can you find me soon because I'm in my head?

(Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet)

~ _IDK You Yet_ by Alexander 23

* * *

vi.

Annabeth Chase has accomplished a lot in her twenty three years of life, but breaking a god’s brain is a new one in her book. 

She scrambles off her bed, eyes wide, adjusting her skirt back down to be around her legs and throwing on the closest shirt (gods know where her blouse and her bra went? _fuck_ ) she could find. 

The god just laid there, half naked, drinking in the scene before him. His eyebrows are scrunched together, cheeks still flushed gold. 

Annabeth ignores him, and walks out the room.

“What are you doing--” she hears him and some clanking as the cuffs slide against her bedpost when the god shifts to sit up in protest.

Annabeth stalks to her bathroom, changes into a pair of jeans to feel a little more in control, all the while muttering all the ancient Greek curses she can remember (from _eat my pants_ to _fuck Heracles_ ). 

She slams her bathroom door angrily, stomping to her kitchenette and taking out a glass to pour out some Chardonnay she got from one of her firm’s Partners two months ago. She hadn’t thought that she would need this so soon.

vii.

“Are you drinking?!”

“Yes. Shhh.” She snaps, and then tilts her head up to finish the drink.

“What is going on -- is this a _kink_ ? _Handcuffing_ someone in the middle of -- of _that_ \-- and leaving to have a glass of wine and sitting on your couch for twenty minutes?”

 _Obviously_ , Annabeth thinks, _obviously the god still has no clue who she is._ If he did, he would have discovered that the cuffs are god proof already, and that he’s hopelessly, helplessly stuck in her apartment with her, stretched out on her bed, until she decides to release him into the wild. (Upon which he will surely smite her without much of a thought.)

Instead, he’s clueless, and probably curious what Annabeth the Mortal is up to. This is probably the most excitement in his godly life in a long, long time.

But Annabeth knows that she has to deal with the _problem_ on her bed soon, because Fates loves to laugh at her and this handsome beautiful stranger of a god will bring trouble beyond comprehension to her doorstep in no time.

Sighing, she turns, and pushes her bedroom door open.

“Care to take this off of me? Or if you wanted to continue, you could just take off your--” He froze. His ocean eyes are glued to something on her chest, but Annabeth knows that he wasn’t admiring the shape of her breasts through the shirt; she looks down. Fuck. 

She is wearing her Camp tee out of all things. 

The god looks at her, eyes clear and alert without any hints of lust (but with some hints of recognition), and looks back to his left arm with horror. He tugs. He tugs again, harder. The handcuff holds.

His arm glows; the handcuff glows in response, and he yelps in pain.

“What is the meaning of this!” He looks back at her with murderous hurricane eyes. “You tricked me!”

“I swear on the Styx that I wasn’t trying to trick you.” Annabeth says softly, trying to placate the god. Lightning booms in confirmation.

He reminds her of a feral, trapped animal at the moment. Trapped, yes, but not for long. 

He can’t use any of his divinity to escape these cuffs. However, once he realizes that he can break her bedpost and tug both the handcuffs and the post with him to break free with physical force, he will do so and kill her.

As long as she acts confident, Annabeth thinks, she still has control and a glimmer of hope to get out of this alive.

viii. 

“If I turn into my true form you will burn,” he threatens.

“Then you will be in a lot of trouble for killing the two-time Hero of Olympus,” she hedges.

ix.

“Put this on,” she says, tossing his shirt to him.

He doesn't seem pleased, but he does so clumsily with one hand. One of his sleeves hangs by his side; he looks ridiculous. Annabeth is just glad that his temper has simmered down.

“I nearly had sex with a daughter of Athena,” he says to himself, almost in a whisper of horror.

Annabeth looks at him across the room, annoyed, “and this daughter of Athena nearly had sex with a _god_.” 

“What’s so bad about that?” he drawls, amusement dancing across his eyes, the glee from those words clearing the stormy glare he had just minutes ago.

Annabeth feels sick. He just baited her. He was _trying_ to annoy her with the comment. He’s still playing a game. A god’s game. He thinks he is the puppet master and she is the marionette; he wants to make her dance but she won’t let him.

“How did you know that I am a daughter of Athena?” she says, instead of accusing him (gods) of being often irresponsible with sex. She has absolutely no (read: _zero_ ) desire of being a mother to a half-(three quarters?) blood. Annabeth can’t even begin to imagine what kinds of terror that can bring.

“I’ve heard of you,” he says, obviously delighted by the knowledge that he’s gaining control of the conversation, “Miss Hero of Olympus -- who would have thought that you kept god-proof handcuffs next to your bed? Imagine this on Hephaestus TV: BREAKING NEWS -- Daughter of Athena, Annabeth Chase--”

“--Stop.”

“Keeps top-grade god-proof handcuffs for kinky sex with gods. Who will be next? Apollo? Hermes?” He paused dramatically and gasped, “ _Zeus?_ ”

Annabeth turns away, cheeks flushed with red from anger and from embarrassment, “You’re never getting out of these.”

He laughs.

“I will, because--”

“--you’re a god? These are designed to hold--”

“I know. I was going to say, it’s because I will swear on the Styx to not hurt you, and,” he holds eye contact with her, and she almost sees genuine sincerity in them, “I will owe you a favor.”

She was going to snap at him, but stops herself just in time. 

A favor from a god is a big deal, and this one can come in handy. She might need it someday; if she holds this favor, she can protect her friends from an impossible, eventual situation. Like the one with Jason a few years ago.

It becomes an easy decision.

“Any favor?” She asks.

“Any favor.” He replies.

x. 

Despite her better judgement, Annabeth releases him after he swears on Styx that he (or anyone on his behalf) will never hurt her, and that he owes her a favor that she can call on anytime, no questions asked.

His pants buttoned and shirt readjusted, he turns to introduce himself.

“By the way, I’m --”

“--Perseus,” she cuts in, satisfaction curling in her at the surprise and shock he displays. 

“I know who you are. Once, I prayed to you when I was crossing the Sea of Monsters. I just didn’t realize that you are _just like the rest of them_.”

Perseus looks like he wants to say something. His brows furrow, but then he relaxes and vanishes with a soft pop.

Annabeth shakes her head. She needs some sleep.

She just wishes that her apartment doesn’t smell so much like the ocean.


	3. god is real (he was sleeping in my bed last night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annabeth doesn't have much of a support network, but at least she has the sun and his son looking out for her

Can anybody hear me (Or am I talking to myself)

My mind is running empty (In the search for someone else)

Who doesn't look right through me (It's all just static in my head)

Can anybody tell me why (I'm lonely like a satellite?)

~ _Astronaut_ by Simple Plan

* * *

xi.

“How was your night?” Annabeth’s colleague, Samantha asks.

“Good,” Annabeth acknowledges, sipping a coffee she just made in the office kitchen and switching on her desktop. “How was yours?”

“Good as well,” her colleague replies politely. Annabeth isn’t particularly close with anyone at work. It’s a competitive environment and she’s been a young upstart; friendships are scarce.

Truthfully, Annabeth can’t concentrate on her plethora of emails in her inbox, asking for her latest project sketches on Revit or progress updates for a building her firm is working on downtown. 

Her mind is on the mess of a night she just had -- a Wednesday night, out of all days it could have been. It seemed too preposterous to be true, at first. For some minutes this morning, Annabeth thought that it was something her mind had concocted; it would not be the first time she’s hallucinated since Tartarus.

Yet, she saw Perseus’ jacket and his leather belt by her bed, and she knew that she hadn’t imagined it all. Gods damn it.

xii. 

“Annie-bell!” The barista calls her name, and she winces before leaving her stool to head up to the counter. She hates it when her name is mis-pronounced.

“That’s me,” Annabeth says, reaching to grab her tall latte, but the barista blocks her arm. He grins at her. She groans internally at the 100-watt smile.

“Cheer up, O Wise One / Annabeth, please have no fear, / for Great Fred is here.”

“Apollo.” Annabeth says, unfazed and tired. “How may I help you?”

Yet another lunch break wasted for more godly fun. 

“Being the Camp’s director and driving the Sun only puts me at about 30% capacity; can’t I drop in for a quick visit with one of my favorite demigods from time to time?”

Annabeth raises an eyebrow; the timing is much too convenient. 

Apollo had dropped in before, especially right after his ascension back to Olympus after Python’s defeat (where Annabeth & co. helped), but she hasn’t seen him in many, many months (however long it had been since she was last at camp).

“Fine!” Apollo throws his hands up. He takes his apron off and folds it before walking out from behind the counter. “I am here because my cousin sends you his regards.”

“Perseus,” Annabeth guessed evenly. She feels rage rising up rapidly inside of her. She should have known better than to trust the god; she should have made the god swear to the Styx on some more of her terms before releasing her. 

Now she’s just another laughing stock for the gods on Olympus. 

“Yes,” Apollo says, “And before you murder him with that glare of yours, he did not send me here, I came on my own accord. I was in midtown anyway -- really! -- to visit Will, and Perseus asked about you last night, so I thought to come. See for myself what you’ve managed to get yourself into now.”

Annabeth tries to stop herself from glowering. She supposes that this isn’t _too_ bad. 

Besides, she is glad that Apollo came to check-in on her, even if he isn’t willing to outright admit so. Out of all gods, Apollo is currently the most human one. She just hopes that he remembers what it feels like to be a mortal years later.

They’ve really managed to forge a bond of friendship during a couple of the quests they took together. It’s been nearly half a decade ago, now. 

“I’m fine,” she relents, finally. “I appreciate you coming,” she emphasizes the sincerity in her voice, “but I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Apollo says, not unkindly. _You can tell me if you need my help_ went unsaid, partly because the god Apollo does not show care that sparingly for anyone other than Meg McCaffrey and some of his children, partly because he is familiar enough to know how to navigate around Annabeth’s fatal flaw. 

xiii. 

_Your father visited me._ \- Annabeth

 _I know._ \- Will

 _When are you getting off work?_ \- Will

 _I can’t today if I want to sleep tonight. Tomorrow? 7p?_ \- Annabeth

 _Should I bring Nico?_ \- Will

 _No, just come by yourself._ \- Annabeth

xiv.

“What on Earth have you gotten yourself into now, Annabeth?” Will asked, plopping down on Annabeth’s couch. 

Annabeth sighs, salting her pot of pasta. 

“Nothing, I swear.” Annabeth replies, defensively. 

Will doesn’t call her out and she is grateful for his support. He waits.

They had been friends since Will arrived in Camp when he was ten; Annabeth has been a regular at Will’s and Ms. Solace has acted as her deputy parent throughout her teenhood. Even though she’s gotten close to some other people (like members of the Seven and a couple of her college friends at Harvard) aside from Will since a decade ago, her wild story of what happened two nights ago is only reserved for a friend like him. 

“You know Perseus,” Annabeth tries to say nonchalantly, “right? You know him because he escorted you to camp.” She states, taking out the meatballs from her oven. 

She feels guilty for bribing information from Will (in a way) with spaghetti and meatballs.

“Yes,” Will answers, voice full of confusion. “Why do you ask?”

Annabeth considers. Indeed, why is she interested to know more about the god? It’s not like she will encounter him again in any circumstance, any more. Perhaps aside from a worse case scenario where she would have to call upon him for a favor. 

She touches the sand dollar the god gave her, strung across her neck. An emergency token, _just in case_ of trouble.

But she can’t deny that she likes that he asked Apollo about her, and now she asks Apollo’s son about him.

“What is he like?”  
“Um,” Will thinks, “I haven’t seen him since a couple of years ago, but he’s one of the nicer gods. Said he owed my Dad one when he saved my life by killing a Minotaur that was following me and Grover. He comes to camp time to time to --”

“--visit Sam and Alyssa,” Annabeth finishes for Will, nodding. “I designed his cabin, I know the two.”

“Yeah,” Will nods. “We chatted a few times since; he’s a son of Poseidon and Thetis, likes blue food, and is the god of riptides and loyalty, amongst a couple of other things. I used to resent him a lot.”

“Why?” Annabeth asks, pausing her movements for stirring the spaghetti. So far, Annabeth knows about all of what Will says aside from the snippet on Perseus liking blue food: that is a strange one.

Will looks pained in response to Annabeth’s question. 

“He promised to take care of Lee and Michael,” he finally says.

“Oh… I’m sorry.” Annabeth’s hand flew over her mouth, not expecting Will to mention the deaths of his half-brothers from the Battle of the Labyrinth and the Battle of Manhattan, “I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t have to tell me.”

Will smiled wryly. “That’s okay. I’m over it now. We talked it through. Do you need any help with the spaghetti?”

xv.

As it turns out, hearing about the relationship that Will and Perseus once had made it much harder for Annabeth to confess to Will what the reason behind Apollo’s visit really is. 

They finished dinner, watched an episode of _Crash Landing on You_ , and it was 10pm before Annabeth blurted out “I nearly had sex with Perseus on Wednesday.”

Will stays silent for a few seconds, before exclaiming, “gods, on a weekday night? With your schedule?”

Annabeth purses her lips, but smiles weakly, too strung out by the week to be embarrassed anymore. “I had needs.”

Will shakes his head, “how did you figure it out?”

Annabeth blushes. “That is not relevant, but I panicked and handcuffed him onto my bed.”

“You need to tell Piper that you used the cuffs Hephaestus made for trapping Aphrodite and Ares, the very pair she had to beg her mother for so you could use it during the Giant’s War, on a minor god because you were too afraid to have sex with him.” 

“It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way.” 

“How do you even get yourself in these situations?”

“You tell me.”

“Uh huh,” Will teases, and Annabeth is grateful for his support.

“I didn’t mean to make tonight all about me,” she says, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “I want to know how you’re doing too.”

Will shook his head, “I’m just glad that you are doing fine and that we get to talk.” 

Annabeth knows Will means well and she is grateful. However, like Will suggested, she is doing just _fine_. Not well. There aren't many people who she can talk to. 

After all, when Will leaves for his home in a few more minutes, she’ll be alone again.


	4. wear a necklace of rope (side by side with me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which annabeth feels a little bit like seri in crash landing on you (but she doesn't need someone to save her, she can save herself -- thank you very much)

And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold

My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones

It keeps my veins hot, the fire's found a home in me

I move through town, I’m quiet like a fight

And my necklace is of rope, I tie it and untie it

~ _Yellow Flicker Beat_ by Lorde

* * *

xvi. 

Annabeth hates that she compares the other men’s lips to Perseus’, because it is really unfair. Mortal lips don’t taste like the ocean, and that’s the _one_ characteristic she has oddly missed. It is a bold thing for her to say as a daughter of Athena. 

It’s a problem, really, because this _nice_ guy named James that she picked up from the bar has a posh British accent she is attracted to, and they had struck up a _nice_ conversation about philosophy (even if the most Annabeth remembered from her freshman philosophy class _The True and the Good_ was limited to some analogy about trolleys). It is _nice_. 

But like the two other men she has brought back since _that encounter_ two and some months ago, she just can’t get into it. They’d kiss and she would know that something just isn’t quite right. Annabeth had even tried to bring a girl back to her apartment, once. Her lips weren't effective, either. 

It feels like Aphrodite has cursed her, but Piper _snorted_ at her when she gathered enough courage to Iris Message Piper to ask if she is, in fact, _cursed_ . Piper thinks that it would be _utmost unlikely_ for Aphrodite to do such a thing.

She says that Annabeth has already done Aphrodite a big favor (indirectly) by refusing Artemis’ offer to join the hunt again and again in front of all the Olympians, in the past. _If there is anything going on,_ Piper suggested, _it is likely that Aphrodite would be more than eager to_ help _rather than_ hinder. Annabeth thanked Piper and immediately dismissed the IM. She does _not_ need any “help” in this department, thank you very much.

James kisses her again and brings her back to the moment; the man is pressing her against the headboard and her neck is uncomfortably bent.

The guy is into it, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander from the peelings on her wall, to the dust on her window sill, to the few pictures she has of her friends and memories from Camp. Midtown is buzzing for a Saturday night -- she can hear the traffic outside, and when James tries to put a hand under her shirt, she stops him at once and pushes him off of her.

She doesn’t know what is _wrong_ with her, but she is in trouble.

xvii. 

Annabeth has half a heart to let her mind wander to _him_ and think about that intoxicating hour they shared before she realized who he was so she could pleasure herself to some degree, but she douses her body in an ice cold shower instead.

She should not feed her obsession. _Not that it’s an obsession,_ her mind denies helpfully.

But when he _drops_ in the middle of her living room a quarter of an episode into that night’s _Crash Landing On You_ session (just when she is getting to the good part where the main characters are finally going to kiss), she groans at the Fates who are surely, _surely_ laughing at her at the moment.

 _Drop_ is not a strong enough word, she thinks dryly. He all but crash landed on her tiny dining table (barely big enough for two). With a crack, two of the legs of the table break and he rolls off of the table.

“I need your help,” he says roughly, groaning on her carpet. “You need to handcuff me, now.”

Annabeth is annoyed. Who does he think he is, asking _her_ for an outlandish favor after ruining her furniture? He is also blinding her (and her plants) with rays of gold emitting from cracks throughout his hands and arms. It looks vaguely concerning, and not at all something she wants to harbor in her small, humble abode. 

“Why--”

“Please,” he begs, voice with enough emotion that Annabeth knows to take the request seriously. Gods are strangers to emotions, especially to ones tied to desperation and fear.

This god is scared.

She retrieves the handcuffs at once and snaps them on him. He screams in agony as the cuffs sizzle on his wrists, but his face is one of relief.

“Thank you,” he manages, and pants. “You just saved Thailand from a magnitude 8 Earthquake.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, staring hard at the god on the floor.

Annabeth wonders what she is getting herself into. More importantly, she wonders why Perseus, sprawled out on the floor and shaking in pain, tugs at something in her heart.

xviii.

“You owe me an explanation,” she decides.

“My mother is Thetis--”

“--I know--”

“--and there was a prophecy of what her children could be.”

She understands.

xix. 

May is the perfect time in New York City. 

It’s been a week and a half since that particularly exciting incident, and she finally cleans out all the ichor Perseus has left on her carpet. However much power he was releasing into the handcuffs, it was fed right back to him; the concentrated energy cut deeply into his wrists and made him bleed. 

She had let him rest on the couch, and when she checked in the middle of the night, he was gone. Like other gods, he didn’t bother to clean up after himself. 

Luckily, ichor was a substance that could be easily washed out by bleach diluted with three parts of nectar and five parts of water. Annabeth just never thought that she would need that knowledge one day when she first read about it in the _Ultimate Demigods’ Guide_.

Anyways, it doesn’t matter.

She's wanted to upgrade her dining table for sometime already, anyway, and her carpet is fine now. Besides, she has an amazing job where her managers trust her to conduct site visits by herself when not a lot of junior architects even have the opportunity to go on one. The client she just visited is looking for a renovation of a building by Wall Street, and she is driving a standalone work stream on that project. She’s worked hard for this, and she is proud. It’s normal and normal is good.

She spoke too soon.

Just as she is about to enter the train station, something slams into her from the right and nearly pushes her into the oncoming traffic. Annabeth rolls to minimize her impact, but she still manages to get a decently sized scrape on her skin from the pavement. 

Wincing, Annabeth reaches for the dagger and invisibility cap in her work bag. She is _so glad_ she elected to not wear her heels today.

People are screaming, scattering from where she and the chimera are. Annabeth wonders what they see. Probably a really big, really feral dog. 

Annabeth briefly surveys her surroundings. Echidna is nowhere in sight but there are some people just around the corner, pulling a big bronze cage away, as if they had just released the monster into the wild--

Pain explodes from her side: the chimera swipes Annabeth across her upper arm, tearing her blouse and her jacket, cutting deep into the skin. She curses. She has been out of practice. Her eyes should _always_ be on her target.

Annabeth puts on her cap, even though it does not make much of a difference to a monster that can track her via her smell. She needs a distraction -- oh, what she would give to have Will (or Grover or Nico or Reyna or whoever) to fight with her right now.

But she knows that she is on her own. Annabeth thinks back to how she defeated the beast the first time and how that led to the destruction of the Gateway Arch and a newfound appreciation for Poseidon (whom she credited for protecting her to make sure that she didn’t go “splat” upon landing in the Mississippi River.) Fun times.

The memory is not useful. There is a distinct lack of high places to jump into at the moment, and she doesn’t have easy movement or access around the beast. Trying to glare the three heads (of lion, goat, and snake) to death does not work, either. 

The snake lunges at her, and bites onto her blazer, barely missing her shoulder. Annabeth shrugs it off then, wrapping the jacket around the snake’s head (and its _very poisonous_ fangs) and dragging the bundle with her as she slides underneath the beast. Once she stabilizes her center of balance, she uses her dagger to behead the snake.

The beast howls, and Annabeth dodges to make sure that she doesn’t get trampled on. One down, two to go. The chimera's lion head breathes out fire in protest of its pain. Fantastic. Still, Annabeth is focused on the end goal; she needs to do this step by step. She needs to get rid of the goat head, next.

Charging into her, the chimera nearly torches Annabeth with the fire. She is faster. She twists at the last second, grabbing the goat’s horn and _twists_. That allows her an opening to the vulnerable point of the goat’s neck and she stabs, dragging her dagger across to slit the creature’s neck. It’s just her and the lion now.

The chimera is tired; so is Annabeth.

Faster than Annabeth can anticipate, it swipes its claws at her; fortunately, Annabeth strikes at the same moment so the claws meet nothing but air. Unfortunately, she fails to kill the monster. Her weapon is short ranged and she needs to be _very close_ to the monster’s mouth to get a good chance at stabbing its throat, and while she manages to stab the chimera, her attempt left her dagger dangling from the monster’s chin, halfway impaled, and nowhere close to a deathly blow. Annabeth is left with no weapon in a very vulnerable position.

The monster is pained and agitated, but it knows that it has a chance to devour her now. The chimera shakes its head and her dagger falls, clattering on the concrete feet away from her. It is too far for reach. 

The chimera bounds towards her, mouth wide and bleeding, eager.

Annabeth only has time to wonder if this is how she will go (after all those years of toil and trouble) and feel its hot and stinky breath on her when the monster stops in mid-air and explodes into a mound of dust. She sees the god on the other side, holding her dagger.

“You dropped this.”

xx.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Relax; this one doesn’t count as your favor.”

“I got it handled.”

Annabeth hates the pointed look Perseus gives her. He doesn’t say anything, but her dripping wound on her arm was clear on display. She could smell the iron in her blood.

Still, _she’s got it_.

He conjures some ambrosia from thin air and offers it to her. She stares at it for a few seconds before taking her own ambrosia squares from her work bag, maintaining eye contact with the god the entire time; her pride does not allow her to accept further assistance from him.

He sighs.

“Thanks,” she allows; she has hubris, but she has manners, too, thank you very much.

He stares at her eating the squares for a minute, before saying, “let me walk you back.”

She looks at him incredulously. “I live in midtown, that’s fifty blocks away.”

“I know; I’m a New York native, remember?” He winks at her, reminding her of the introductions that they exchanged at the bar. “Besides, I need to retrieve my jacket.” _So he left it on purpose_ , Annabeth concludes.

She knows that she should make up some excuse to not accept his company, because the god still treats her like a game, but she can’t help herself.

“Sure,” she says, knowing that this is a bad idea.


	5. we live in a wonderland (like blood isn't in our hands)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annabeth's mind is stuck in the past; so why does the sea god look at her like she is the future?

“They marched along the railroad tracks

And smiled real wide for the camera lenses

They made it past the enemy lines

Just to become enslaved in the assembly lines”

~ _Blue Lips_ by Regina Spektor

* * *

xxi. 

“Why are you here?”

“New York is the best city in the world! What’s not to like--”

“Gods are busy. Why are you here, talking to me?”

“I’m free.”

“So you just hang around women you met at bars during your free time?”

“No, I hang around the two-time _Hero of Olympus_ , and there’s only one of those in the world.”

“Hm.” Annabeth mused, secretly pleased.

“Really!”

“Thank you for being so _flattering_ , but I’m not stupid,” she shakes her head, not accepting the answer. “What’s the real reason?”

A pause.

“I wanted to thank you.”  
“What for?”

“For helping me.”

“With the cuffs?” This was still one of the strangest exchanges she’s had with any being, and that includes a very cryptic message Aphrodite has given her once upon a time.

“Yes. You saved Thailand.”

“You could have found someone else.”  
“Probably not. No one else I know has something similar readily available. The country and its people were doomed: if not by the earthquake, then by the tsunami that was going to follow.”

“Why did you do that, then?” Annabeth realizes that the god is implying that other disasters of the sort are results of his influences. She wonders if he is responsible for the explosion at Mt. St. Helens that nearly killed her when she was fifteen. (But hey, she met Calypso through that, and it was a special enough _something_ that neither of them would admit to Leo to this day.)

“It’s not voluntary!” He says, bringing her back to the present.

“You’re thousands of years old, and you _can’t_ control your powers?” For a brief second, Annabeth is scared that she overstepped. There is a hint of the familiar feeling of impending doom that sends the hairs on her arm to stand up on their ends. It used to happen a lot when she was younger and quicker to offend the gods. Annabeth (usually) knows better than to imply out loud that she can do better than them now.

To her relief, the apprehensiveness quickly passes, and the god smiles.

“Something like that, yes.”

Annabeth doesn’t push her luck by probing more, and they keep walking.

xxii. 

“Why did you want her to take credit?”

“It’s been years. It doesn’t matter.”

Perseus doesn’t have to specify who “her” refers to; she has been asked this question a million times. 

Despite that, Annabeth still doesn’t really know how to articulate her answer. All her life she’s wanted recognition from her mother. It also didn’t make sense for an arrogant daughter of Athena to thrust the title of _Hero of Olympus_ upon a daughter of Zeus (not that it mattered, because Thalia corrected her quickly and told everyone the truth). But at that time, it wasn’t really about her pride. 

It was about her dagger and Luke’s promise. To everyone’s surprise, Thalia did not make the decision; she was just a timer for the clock to tick to sixteen. It started and ended with their little family, but the finish line was painted in blood instead of hearth and glory. Annabeth didn’t want that on her hands.

(But it was, and it still is.)

xxiii.

June 21st marks the summer solstice, and as per tradition, Annabeth leads a group of fresh-faced campers on tour around Olympus after a brief reception by the throne room. It’s the longest day of the year, and a day that campers look forward to twice a year -- it’s a chance for them to get a glimpse of their godly parents.

If a camper is really lucky, the camper might even get to meet and chat with his or her parent. _Wow_. 

Even after her demand (wish) on getting half-bloods and minor gods more recognition, the Olympians are still largely indifferent. Annabeth wonders if it is possible for a god to change, and if that change would have been against their natures. She hopes not. All this trouble the half bloods have gone through (paved with blood, sweat, and lives) should be worth something in the end.

“Hey everyone, it’s good to see you here!” She says, trying to sound upbeat and preppy. “I see a few new faces -- this is exciting! You’re in for a treat.” Annabeth is bitter, but she knows how to put on a show for the kids. She was in their shoes, once. 

She leads them around to show off some of the residences and gardens she’s designed in the past years for the gods (commenting and visiting at a respectful distance, of course), narrating with some of the fun stories she’s heard and navigating around some of the true horrors she’s seen first hand in these halls. 

The young campers would learn about what being a half-blood really means soon enough. 

“Here’s one of the many gardens gods enjoy on Olympus, Apollo and Aphrodite commissioned _a lot_ of statues of their busts for this one, as you can see…” Annabeth pointed, and the campers oohed and ahhed. 

“And the centerpiece is a fountain that I had the honor to design about six years ago; it spans 55 feet and there’s an aquarium Hephaestus designed in the middle. That’s where Bessie lives.” Annabeth laughs at the confused look on campers’ faces. “It’s an Ophiotaurus, don’t worry about it.”

Annabeth thought back to one of her earliest adventures to the Sea of Monsters with fondness. That was over ten years ago; she has come so far. 

It’s good that she can finally kick back and enjoy. She wonders what is in store for the next generation of demigods. 

xxiv. 

“Why did you want to become an architect?” A younger half-sibling asks, looking at her with admiration from gray eyes identical as her own.

“I want to build something permanent.” Annabeth replies without hesitation.

The camper doesn’t ask, but she sees the question in his eyes.

_Then why didn’t you become a god?_

Children of Athena ask very good questions.

xxv. 

“Can I join?” the god asks.

“Sure,” Annabeth says, and Perseus sits down next to her.

Annabeth is surprised that he finds her. 

She is sitting by the very edge of Olympus, a slice of the gods’ home she’s carved out for herself to sit and think whenever she needs a breather. 

It’s mostly out of sight; Annabeth previously found this place when she was scouting the premise as a part of her design efforts. She was initially attracted to the garden nearby; the plots of moonlace reminded her of Ogygia (and thinking about “what-ifs” is a powerful drug).

She decided to not include this space in the renovation efforts, and no one has bothered with it. There is still some rubble from the war seven years ago, but she likes it that way. It deters unwanted visitors. However, it seems like the spot may be less private than she previously thought.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while.” He says, as if there was an expectation for them to meet. _It’s been a little less than a month_ , Annabeth’s brain helpfully supplies.

“I’ve been busy with work; how are you?” She asks. She hopes that he doesn’t ask about his jacket. She “forgot” to return it to him last time at the end of the walk, and he didn’t press.

Not that he needs to, she supposes. He’s donning yet another cool jacket, one that is more fashionable than the sea god has any rights to be.

He smiles. “I’ve been working on some anti-pollution efforts. Humans are not very good with keeping the oceans clean.”

“I’m sorry.” Annabeth says, remembering the great god Pan and her friend Grover. She should check in with Grover; it’s been a while.

“Don’t be,” he says, “It’s my job.” But she sees the wistfulness in his eyes. She sees something else, too.

She directs her gaze away before something happens. Beneath their dangling legs, she sees the island of Manhattan sprawl out for a few miles, filled with ant-sized buildings, full with millions of people living millions of little lives. Some distance away, she can see the ocean glinting orange as the sun sets on the horizon.

Nevertheless, civilization buzzes below, just like it has every day for eons, oblivious to the divinity overseeing it all. From her current vantage point, it feels so transient and small to her, and she wonders if this is what gods feel all the time.

“Perseus--” she starts.

“Call me Percy,” he corrects her.

“Percy, how does it feel like,” she questions, “to be a god?”

“That’s an interesting question.”

She waits. 

“It’s a different state of being than what you are used to, I suppose, but it just is -- _always has been_ \-- for me. As long as the tides ebb and flow, and as long as an entity has loyalty to another, I exist. It’s not for forever, but it’s for a really long time.”

“How does it feel?” She pressed.

“Nothing in particular.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think mortals romanticize the concept of permanence much too much. Life only has meaning because it ends. It gives color to the things you do, knowing that one day it will end. I don’t have that. I just _am_ ; it’s difficult to feel when you’ve always been, you always are, and you always will.”

Annabeth likes to think that she understands that. She lays down on the marble floor, and he does so, too. She allows a moment of silence.

“Do you wish--”

“--That’s a dangerous thought that I am not entertaining.” He warns. 

“Okay,” she says. He’s already told her too much, anyway, though it was not anything that she doesn’t know, deep down, already. 

Feeling unsure on how to continue the conversation, Annabeth takes out her phone and turns on Spotify. She offers an earbud to Percy and he takes it.

The two listen to the music, quietly, drinking in each other’s company. Annabeth knows that there are things that she can want at the moment but can never have. And she thinks that maybe Percy does, too.

She sighs and stares into the skies, her thoughts a million miles away. She could see the stars behind the last rays of the setting sun and she thinks of Zoe, then Bob, then all the loss she’s endured in her past. 

There’s too much to think about the past, for Annabeth, but she doesn’t miss the god’s eyes on her, looking at her like she is the future.


	6. neverland is home (to lost boys like me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annabeth is alone for every gods damned birthday but maybe this one's an exception

There was a time when I was alone

(Nowhere to go and no place to call home)

My only friend was the man in the moon

(And even sometimes he would go away, too)

~ _Lost Boys_ by Ruth B.

* * *

xxvi. 

Annabeth turned seven on July 12th at the turn of the millennia.

Annabeth had grand ambitions for this year, turning seven. She would finally master the alphabet. Reading had always been difficult for her, but her father said she could do it. Maybe if she could fix her dyslexia, everything would be okay in school.

Things were less okay with her stepmother, but maybe she could fix that too. Annabeth would try harder. It was just challenging because the spiders wouldn’t stop coming at night.

They’ve been plaguing her for many weeks now. They would come when it is dark, and they would swarm around her and litter her body with hundreds of red, angry, little bites. No matter how many times she screamed, cried, swatted, hid, they were always there, leaving cobwebs everywhere (on her eyelids, by her ears, between her fingers)

If her stepmother, Helen, came and switched on the lights, the spiders would scramble away. Her bites faded quickly because of how fast she healed, so there would be no hints of existence for these spiders aside from the little bits of cobwebs that managed to build up here and there.

Helen wouldn’t believe her, telling her that the cobwebs were dust and that Annabeth had imagined everything else. But Annabeth knew that she hadn’t. It was as real as the strange man (with one eye) or the snarling ladies with leathery wings that she’s seen in school. Helen never believed that she saw those monsters, either.

*

“Happy birthday, Annabeth!” Helen said when she went downstairs the morning she turned seven.

“Thanks,” Annabeth says, accepting the glass of orange juice that was handed to her. Helen was only so nice because she felt bad that Annabeth's father was away on her birthday, again. 

Annabeth took a seat at the table, next to Bobby in his high chair. Helen was holding Matthew in her arms, setting the breakfast table. There were Eggs Benedict, Annabeth’s favorite. There were also little muffins on the table, a nice treat.

“How did you sleep?” Helen asks, setting down a plate of bacon and putting Matthew in his high chair before sitting across Annabeth herself.

“I saw them again,” Annabeth said, trying her best to be nonchalant. 

“There were _no_ spiders,” Helen said, her eyes darkening. 

Annabeth didn't say anything in reply. She wasn’t trying to start a fight, after all, and she knew better than to insist that she was right (even if she was.)

The rest of the breakfast was a little awkward, but Helen regained her composure and mentioned that they could all go to Chuck E. Cheese together, after breakfast. Annabeth didn’t think that it was that exciting, but she appreciated the good will. Helen also said that they could walk through The Painted Ladies neighborhood on the way back, and that would be nice. Annabeth liked how those houses looked; she also decided that she wanted to have one of those for herself when she grows up. 

Just when Annabeth was going to reply with an enthusiastic “yes!,” a really big, really scary dog with fangs caught her eye. It was much bigger and angrier than Clifford the Big Red Dog (only dog she could think of comparative size), and it was sitting _right outside_ their window.

Annabeth screamed.

She ran to grab her hammer from under her bed. It was something she took from her father’s toolkit a while ago. _Monsters are real, and they are coming after her;_ she had to--

An angry Helen blocks Annabeth’s exit from the house. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Helen asks, gesturing to Annabeth’s tight grip on the hammer. She was trying to balance both Bobby and Matthew on her hip, holding them in hopes of placating them. The twins were crying, startled by Annabeth’s screams earlier. 

“I have to fight it -- there’s a monster!” Annabeth said, defiant, raising her fist and the hammer. Helen took a step backwards. 

“That’s _crazy_. There is no monster,” she said, harshly.

“But--” Annabeth could see the monster right outside, biting a fire hydrant and tearing the metal cap off like it was made of cheap plastic. Water squirted out. “It bit off the fire hydrant.”

“No, the fire hydrant just malfunctioned. Annabeth, this is crazy. _You’re_ crazy. This is all your imagination. Lower your hammer right now.”

Annabeth looked between her stepmother and the door, and then back to the exasperation in her stepmother’s face. Annabeth knew that she wasn’t about to win this battle. 

She’s already overheard many fights between Helen and her father on what to do with Annabeth (like she’s a piece of meat). Apparently, Annabeth's reactions to these monsters and spiders were scaring her little step-brothers, and Helen hinted at wanting to send her away. Of course her stepmother would never trust her: she said that Annabeth was _crazy_.

That night, Annabeth cried into her pillow, adding another resolution for this year: she needed to find someone that believes in her. For now, it’s just her against the world. She’s in this by herself, alone.

xxvii. 

Her eighth birthday was spent on the run but it was the best birthday she had ever had. She had a family, and it wasn’t just an illusion of one.

They’d spent the night before in an abandoned elementary school somewhere in suburban New Jersey. It was a good spot to set up camp, and Thalia and Luke were thinking of converting it as their latest safe house.

It wasn’t a terribly wealthy neighborhood, but they had managed to sneak in some cold soggy tuna sandwiches and canned clam chowder from a supermarket after dark. Thalia heated it up with the school’s (surprisingly functional after a zap of electricity) microwave in a teacher’s lounge.

It was the most delicious thing Annabeth’s had in a month. 

To her pleasant surprise, Luke and Thalia had also managed to grab a sheet cake (how?!) along with some colored candles.

Annabeth remembered that Thalia was laughing and swiping colored icing on Luke’s cheeks as she attempted to spell out Annabeth’s name on the cake. It ended up being horribly misspelled, but Annabeth couldn’t care less. In the meantime, Luke blew up balloons to decorate the classroom for her “birthday party.” He drew a multi-layered birthday cake on the blackboard, telling Annabeth that it’s the cake he and Thalia will bake her the next year, for her ninth birthday.

Afterall, they were nearly there, a few weeks away from a safe haven for people like them.

“Are we going to be a family forever?” She asked.

“Yes,” Thalia said, “Yes we are.”

Annabeth wished for the same thing before blowing out all the candles on her cake.

Luke took a picture of that moment, then, with a Polaroid camera they found in one of the classrooms. Annabeth kept the photo by her side for years. Since the Second Titan War, it’s been tucked away in a dusted box underneath her desk on Olympus, labeled “memories -- do not open.”

(commissioner: me; artist: gretasartt)

xxviii. 

Luke was the traitor, after all.

Annabeth spent her thirteenth birthday alone.

xxix. 

Her sixteenth birthday was in the midst of the war. It’s been a difficult summer. 

There was no time to celebrate, really. Beckendorf was busy preparing an arsenal of Greek fire to get ready for his Princess Andromeda raid; Thalia was getting antsy, because she was sixteen and a half then and they knew that the peak of the Second Titan war was coming. Silena had been quiet (and Annabeth should have tried harder to check in on her); the Apollo cabin was still mourning for Lee, and Michael (plus Will, his second-in-command) were doing their best to train campers on long-range combat techniques.

It had been a year and a half since Luke asked Annabeth if she wanted to run away with him, and she was trying her best to squish down the small voice in the back of her mind that told her _maybe she_ __sho_ uld have _.

She wondered if Luke asked Thalia, too, because Thalia’s fatal flaw was ambition and Annabeth had seen Thalia being tempted by the idea of power again, and again, and again. But Thalia never showed any waver in her loyalty to the gods, and Annabeth was disgusted at herself for doubting her friend. She hated even more that she was comparing herself to Thalia in such a way.

Annabeth spent her birthday by herself in her bedroom. She was grateful that the head counselors were entitled to their own rooms, because she bawled, mostly out of stress. She tried to sketch some new designs of temples, monuments and museums, but her heart wasn’t in it. (Now, Annabeth laughs at her sixteen-year-old self’s naive understanding of what a bad birthday truly means.)

One year later, while other girls are crowned as Dancing Queens on their seventeenth birthdays, she spent hers in Tartarus, alone. 

xxx. 

She has been twenty four for about twenty hours now, and she feels _old_. 

It’s a strange feeling, because the deities she deals with every day are literally thousands of years old. However, her friends (mortal or demigod) are starting to settle down now, and she still has little to show for the permanence she has always wanted to build. She doesn’t mean it in a strictly architectural sense, either.

Annabeth sits on the dock in Brooklyn, overlooking the polluted waters of the East River. It’s a good spot to think, and she likes the Ferry ride over from Manhattan. It’s a cool, perfect summer night.

Birthdays are strange, because she’s usually unusually bitter on this day. For some reason, she's always _alone_.

Will had sent her a birthday note earlier, telling her that he and Nico are needed for an errand at New Rome. Annabeth had hopes that they can all go for dinner or something, and she isn't ready to admit that she is a little more than disappointed.

Even after all these years, she still doesn't have her go-to person(s).

Thalia doesn’t use a cell phone and may not even be in the United States, traveling around with the Hunters. Katie is on Travis’ college’s campus for the summer. Malcolm is in Palo Alto, and Annabeth has never been that close with the new Athena cabin head counselor, Zane Carver. The ones she’s been close enough with out of the Seven are all elsewhere; Piper’s IMed her earlier in the day from LA, and she’s been glad to hear from her friends in New Rome.

And oh, _right_. Her father also called her, briefly. Their relationship is tenuous at best, but it’s been improving. Bobby and Matthew are both entering colleges after the summer, and her father mentioned that he and Helen might move back to the East Coast. Whatever--

“Hey you,” someone says behind Annabeth, interrupting her inner monologue, and she nearly falls into the river. That would have been bad.

She turns, hand inching towards her dagger that she’s strapped around her waist. It was _him_. Annabeth lets her hand fall to her side.

“I didn’t know that you like to hang here,” he says, inviting himself to sit next to her.

“You don’t know a lot about me.” She snaps, not because she is annoyed at him, but because she is bitter from her thoughts. How is this god here when no one else bothered?

Percy isn’t fazed. “I’ve heard enough. Plus, you’re sitting on my turf, by the water; I'm around because I was just working with the East River god,” he shrugs. He gestures for her hand; he has something for her.

Annabeth accepts the present. It is a blue cupcake. The bitterness bled out of her.

“Thank you, and I’m s--”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, not letting her apologize. “Happy birthday.”

“How did you know?”

He lets out a light laugh and does not answer. 

Internally, Annabeth berates herself for asking him that question. She shouldn’t pretend that this Perseus -- Percy -- went out of his way to figure out something as silly as her birthday. It probably means nothing.

She sighs. “I really do appreciate it.”

He shakes his head to let her know that it’s not a big deal. “Try the cupcake! My brother Tyson helped me bake them.”

Annabeth laughs. The image she has in her head is absurd. Here’s a god, a _powerful_ one, no less, and he employs his (probably godly) brother to bake with him? Also, they’ve made blue cupcakes out of all things, and here Percy is, offering one to her.

She bites into the cupcake and the half-haphazardly applied icing on top. She is impressed.

“So, how is it?”

“It’s not bad,” she comments. “I’ve never had a cupcake this _blue_.”

“‘Not bad’? It’s _divine_!” Percy corrects her, but his eyes light up. “Blue food is my mom’s specialty.”

“Thetis bakes?” Annabeth imagines the Nereid firing her oven up underwater. 

“Um, yeah. You know, the Ancient Greeks invented baking some 2,600 years ago.”

“Wow,” Annabeth says, recalling something she read about designs of enclosed ovens a while ago.

“Yeah,” Percy says, and suddenly Annabeth feels awkward. There’s some sort of tension between the two of them, one that she hasn’t felt since the first night they’ve met. “You’ve got some icing on your cheek,” he continues, looking at her intently.

“Hm,” she absentmindedly acknowledges before her brain catches up to how close their faces are from the other’s. She pulls back, and he does too, a moment later. “I appreciate this, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got work in the morning.” She wipes the icing off her cheek.

Annabeth knows that Percy isn’t buying it, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods. She tries to stifle the disappointment she feels, but then he smiles at her, widely.

“In case you’d like to find me, sometime, you know where to go. Happy birthday, Annabeth.”

(commissioner: me; artist: ibnats)


	7. at night when all is dark (I watch you dance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annabeth panics because she doesn't know what she should do for percy's birthday  
> oh, and she really doesn't want to go on a quest

“Pound the prairie pavement, losing proposition

Quitting school and going to work and never going fishing

Water all around, I never learned how to swim now”

~ _Swinging Party_ ft. Lorde

[Spotify playlist for this fic.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=QxuVuE5xRvOo8pPb2azPmw)

* * *

xxxi.

 _Hey_ \- Annabeth

 _Sup_ \- Will

 _Happy birthday again, btw. Sorry Nico and I can’t be there_ \- Will

 _It’s nbd. But I do have a favor to ask. Don’t judge._ \- Annabeth

 _I’m terrified, but ok_ \- Will

 _Can you figure out when Percy’s birthday is?_ \- Annabeth

 _WOW you’ve got it bad oh my gods_ \- Will

 _You call him ‘Percy’ instead of ‘Perseus’ now?_ \- Will

 _Damn_ \- Will

 _I said don’t judge!!_ \- Annabeth

 _Ok, fine_ \- Will

 _But how should I know when his birthday is?_ \- Will

xxxii. 

“You came!” He beams.

“Why are you so surprised?” 

“It’s been two weeks! I thought I scared you away with my brick of a cupcake.”

“I was just busy with work,” Annabeth smiles, “and your cupcake was great. Send my thanks to Tyson.”

“Will do. He’ll be glad to hear.”

Annabeth moves to sit with him on the bench by the pier. 

“The water seems cleaner,” she comments. The sun glistens beautifully on the East River; it’s a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

“Thanks, but there’s still a lot of work to do. More tourists are here during the summer and they leave a lot of trash. But hey, it’s easier work than the alternative. Father says to take this as some sort of a break.”

Annabeth raises her eyebrow. She can only imagine what kinds of godly duties that Percy would be in charge of but she doesn’t ask. She isn’t sure if that’s what he wants to talk about if he is on break; in fact, she is not at all well-versed in godly conversation etiquette. Maybe she should learn --

“You have that look on your face,” he chuckles.

“What look?” Annabeth crosses her arms and scowls defensively.

“It’s not a bad thing, it’s just that I can’t tell if you want to stab me or…”

“Or…”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “You just look like you have questions to ask me, Wise Girl.”

Annabeth’s scowl deepens.

Percy puts up his hand in defense, “hey, what did I do? Children of Athena ask the hardest questions and that’s not a bad thing.”

“No, just the nickname -- ‘Wise Girl’ -- _Clarisse_ used to call me that. Along with ‘Owl Head,’ ‘Miss Brainiac,’ ‘Miss Princess’-- and you’re smirking! She made fun of me _for years_ with these nicknames.”

“Hey, sorry. But look, ‘Wise Girl’ is not a bad nickname. You are wise: that is a well known fact! No one can doubt that. It’s not an insult from me; I promise,” he pauses and considers before offering, “you know what? I’ll totally accept a nickname from you too, O Great One. Nicknames are cool anyway.”

“Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth mutters.

“Excuse me, what?” Percy asks, not believing his ears.

“Seaweed Brain -- that’s your name now.” Annabeth cracks a smile.

“What kind of a name is that?” He questions, and Annabeth pushes on his arm hard, nearly toppling him over, “Oh, okay, okay! Yes, that is my name now. Fine.” Percy laughs along with her.

 _Wise Girl and Seaweed Brain_ , Annabeth muses in her head. It all tastes so familiar for some reason. 

She can’t quite put her finger on _why_ that is.

xxxiii. 

“Annabeth!” Katie exclaims, “I haven’t heard from you in so long!”

“Katie,” Annabeth smiles at her through the Iris Message, “it’s good to see you. How are you? How’s Travis?”

“We’re both doing well; Travis’ apartment on campus is so nice! I work at a flower shop throughout the week while taking some online classes. Travis is doing some psych-related research on campus during the week but he’s been picking up some extra weekend shifts lately. How’s it going in New York?”

“You know, the usual… work, more work, some monster attacks, and then work again. It’s good, much better than the alternative.” Annabeth means it. The _alternative_ is a lot of heartbreak and loss from the usual perils of demigod lives. It’s been seven years since Tartarus but it’s taken nearly just as long for her to start putting some of that trauma behind.

Normal is good. Annabeth likes being stressed about normal things. She likes it when the biggest problem for her is figuring out what it takes for her to make a partner at her Firm (hopefully) by the age of 30. _Not_ how to survive through yet another crisis.

“I don’t miss it that much either. To be honest, I miss Camp much less than I thought I would,” Katie admits. Annabeth figures that is why Katie left her cabin in Miranda’s hands once the Battle of Manhattan is over and Katie decides to only come back occasionally for some summers. “There were some good parts, like when Trav and Connor rigged our cabin with chocolate bunnies--”

“--you were _very mad_ about that--”

“--but I’m glad that I can kick back and enjoy now, to some degree.” Katie summarizes and Annabeth agrees. “Anyway,” Katie continues, “what do you need my help on?”

“How do you know that I need help with something?” Annabeth says, surprised. 

Katie laughs. “We were both cabin counselors for five years together, and you’re one of my best friends at Camp. I _know_ you.”

Annabeth’s ears turn red. What’s left unsaid was that _you don’t contact people without reason, Annabeth_. She probably should get better at keeping in touch with some of her friends; she just doesn’t feel that there are many people who see her as one.

“Sorry,” Annabeth replies sheepishly. 

“Don’t be,” Katie shakes her head kindly. Annabeth realizes how much she has missed her friend. They must not have talked for many, many months now. “Plus, there’s something else that tipped me off. Your kitchen looks like something exploded there. Not a monster, either -- unless it’s one that’s made out of flour. _Blue_ flour.”

Annabeth blushes. She forgot that Katie can see everything that went on in her background. Annabeth regains her composure.

“Ah, yes. Actually, I can use some help with baking. As it turns out, I don’t have the faintest idea when it comes to making a cake. For once, it seems like I don’t have good enough of a plan.”

xxxiv. 

“I still can’t believe that you figured out when my birthday is. I didn’t even remember myself.” Percy says in amazement for the fiftieth time. 

“Well, it’s the least I can do to repay the favor. Just in time, too. Happy birthday.” Annabeth says humbly. She is glad that her efforts paid off. It took her three weeks to perfect after contacting Katie to really perfect that particular recipe.

Honestly, it was a great thing for her to occupy her mind with. Today marks the eighth anniversary of Luke’s death. She likes to think of August 18th less and less in that context.

“Thank you, and like I said, it means a lot. Your baking skills are much better than mine and Tyson’s combined. Plus, I appreciate the blueness of it.” Percy says, licking the remaining of the icing off his fingers, “you know, if the “god of blue food” is ever a title up for grabs, that would be me.”

“How did that come about, anyway? The affinity for blue foods?” Annabeth asks, curious. “Well. When I was younger, my mother told others that I was Achilles’ much younger sibling, raising me as a mortal to hide me from the gods. Obviously, that did not work. 

“I stood out like a sore thumb because I keep getting into trouble. I didn’t have a great control on my powers initially,” he admits, “the only thing that made me really happy were all those treats that she would make for me. For some reason, I had dreams of blue sweets and cookies. Those weren’t a thing then, so I asked for blue foods instead. My mother complied, and I’ve been spoiled ever since.”

“That’s awesome,” Annaeth says, ignoring the bitter sentiment bubbling within her and her yearning for her own divine mother to acknowledge and protect her. 

She sits in silence with Percy for a while, before he stands up and starts to skip stones on the River.

Annabeth debates herself. Before losing her courage, she presses on: “by the way, do you want to come for dinner? I make excellent spaghetti.”

*

“Strange, there’s no one on the ferry.” They decide to go across the city the mortal way. Annabeth knows (guesses) that it’s because they both want to have an excuse to spend more time talking with one another.

“Maybe it’s just that today is too hot and people are staying indoors.” Percy suggests but Annabeth is skeptical. She’s taken this route many, many times. The only times she’s seen this ferry empty were times when it’s cold, dark, and rainy in the middle of winter seasons. Not during the height of the summer before the sun sets below the horizon.

“You’re probably right, I’m just paranoid.” Annabeth tries to rationalize, but the boat shakes before these words fully leave her mouth. 

In hindsight, it’s a good thing that she has a sea deity with her because the next thing she knows, there is a sickening crack and the ferry is lifted into the air. _Something_ tears the first half of the vessel away and _throws_ it far from them.

There is a big splash in the distance, but aside from that, everything is eerily silent.

“Annabeth,” Percy says tightly, and the next thing she knows, there is a soft pop and she is teleported away from the scene onto the midtown pier they would have arrived in just a moment if _something_ did not almost kill them. Or just her, really. _Perseus_ is an immortal god and he is dealing with whatever that just caused _that_.

He appears next to her in another three minutes.

“That was fast,” she comments, trying to not be fazed by his nearly glowing, stormy green eyes and unruly wave-like hair. He looks like a hurricane, personified. _He is completely dry_ , she notes duly.

“Are you okay?” He demands.

“Yes, yes I am fine. Are you?”

He breathes in heavily. “Yes, of course.” He breathes out harshly. “At least you are safe.”

Annabeth cautiously puts her hand on his shoulder to placate him. He does not shrug it off and she is glad.

For a moment, she could swear that she sees a flash of fear in his eyes. But it goes quickly and the emotion is once again replaced by anger.

“I’m okay. We’re okay. I hadn’t seen _it_ since the Sea of Monsters.” She tries to calm them both, but she also can’t help but express her curiosity on what had just happened.

“I know, and I have returned it to where it belongs.” His eyes are dark, and he adds with more rigor than Annabeth expects, “but something doesn’t add up. There are no mortals around,” he grounds out. “I don’t think there ever was a captain onboard when we were ferrying across the East River, even before the attack. I checked. This wasn’t a random monster attack; this was planned.”

xxxv. 

The walk back was silent.

“Hey, I’m really glad you’re alright,” he says once they entered her apartment.

“I’m glad you are too,” she replies. Annabeth doesn’t understand why, but he is standing in the middle of her living room, looking more troubled than she has ever seen him to be.

Despite her better judgement, she hugs him.

He lets her, and he rests his head on her shoulder. Percy sighs.

“I’ve got you,” she promises. 

And something in the atmosphere _shifts_. Annabeth braces herself for what she knows he is going to broach. This conversation has been a long time coming.

“Listen, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he mutters into her shirt. 

“I’m not.” Five months since they first met, and they have danced around each other.

Neither of them can deny the tension they feel between them.

“It’s just--”

“Just friends,” Annabeth sets her boundaries. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want--”

She pulls him by his shirt and kisses him. He’s utterly, completely _clueless_ , Annabeth thinks, but it is _unwise_ if they are anything more. Things never end well for a mortal who wants to be with a god.

The alternative is to cut him out of her life completely, but she isn’t ready for that, either.

Annabeth steps back, chiding herself for indulging herself with illusions of something impossible.

“Annabeth,” he breathes, but the start of an Iris Message forms and she pushes him to the side in a panic.

“Annabeth!” Piper exclaims from the message. “Thank the gods you are okay,” she continues in a hurry.

“What’s going on, Piper?” Annabeth replies, alert at her friend’s panic.

“It’s Leo, he’s missing,” she says, eyes red and full of worry. “We think that there has been an attack and he is captured.”

Annabeth bites her lip, “Pipes, it’ll be okay. Does Chiron know?”

Piper nods. “We’re IMing all the demigods outside the boundaries of the two camps right now, just to make sure that everyone’s on guard for this. Can you come to Camp right now?”

Annabeth considers. It’s a Tuesday evening, but if a quest is to be issued and that she’s somehow involved, it’ll be difficult to explain to work why she has to take time off after she comes back. Still, that shouldn’t be the concern at hand; Leo’s safety is a priority.

“I’ll pack and be right there,” she promises.

Piper nods, “thank you, you are the best. See you soon.” Piper dismisses the message.

Annabeth sighs, just remembering that Percy is overhearing all this. She turns around, but he isn’t there anymore. _  
_

**A/N: Thanks for all the birthday wishes! It _is_ my birthday today and I'm glad that you all can celebrate that with me <3 **


	8. sea green (see blue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seeing your ex after nine years is kind of awkward, huh  
> grief and nostalgia are also powerful drugs

“Run your morning bath in sea foam

Soak your milky skin in the tide

Little pearl you think you're in gold

But I can see the dirt in your lines”

~ _Alrighty Aphrodite_ by Peach Pit

[ Join my Discord for outtakes, art, pjo discussions, etc. ](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4)

* * *

xxxvi. 

It is just after sundown when Annabeth gets to Camp, and Chiron announced that she, Piper, and Calypso would make the perfect team to embark on a quest to find Leo. They did not receive a prophecy from Rachel, but they will be leaving at dawn.

“You have to go on this quest; we don’t have other experienced candidates around New York.”

“I’m twenty-four. I have to pay my rent, my utilities--”

“--Olympus pays for your apartment--”

“--Well, I have student loans!”

“Please, Annabeth.”

“Okay, Chiron. Okay.”

She hopes that Chiron doesn’t think that her pushback was selfish. Annabeth is just really, really tired. She wants to have the chance to live her own life for once.

xxxvii. 

At (a very late) dinner, she considers who to burn an offering to.

Her mother, naturally. Then Hephaestus, to show her sincerity and good will in bringing Leo back.

Then, a portion for Perseus.

She tries to justify herself. _It’s not just because I like him_ , she determines, _it’s because he fixed my dining table._ The other side of her mind scoffs at that because it doesn’t count when he was the one who broke it in the first place, three months ago. She is just making an excuse to contact him.

Nevertheless, a drachma appears in her pocket the moment she scrapes off a part of her meal for him and tosses it into the fire. Her pocket feels impossibly heavy as she finishes her food in a hurry.

He wants her to call him.

xxxviii.

She does not Iris Message him.

Annabeth doesn’t feel like she’s ready to talk to him, yet -- plus, there is a quest at hand, and there’s no telling when she’ll be done with all that. One thing at a time. 

She wanders out from the dining pavilion into the Omega formation of cabins; for some reason, instead of heading straight to her cabin, she makes a detour. 

Annabeth wants to go to _his_ cabin, Cabin Twenty Three, but she isn’t ready to run into Sam and Alyssa and think about how she could be their father’s _somebody_ one day. (Woah, _slow down._ She’s getting way ahead of herself.) She couldn’t even look at them in the eye when she saw them earlier in the evening.

Instead, Annabeth turns on her heels and heads to the top part of the Omega. 

xxxix.

When she walks past the Poseidon cabin, the door is ajar. 

She doesn’t walk in, but she can almost make out the glow of the fountain within the cabin, calling out to her like it knew her.

Something tempts her to walk into Cabin Three and IM him. For a moment, when she considers that, it almost feels _deja vu_.

Annabeth shakes her head. This isn’t _Frozen_ , water doesn’t really hold memories. Even if it does, what memory can there be for her? There’s not been a child of Poseidon for the past eighty years; no one has been in that cabin for a long, long time.

Annabeth maintains her stride and arrives at Zeus’ cabin.

Piper sits by the steps, alone.

“Pipes,” Annabeth says gently, “how are you?”

Piper’s eyes are unfocused but she smiles at Annabeth. It’s a sad smile and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes; Annabeth’s heart twinged in pain for her friend.

The two hadn’t seen each other in person for quite a long time, and the last time they spoke was through an IM over three months ago when Annabeth asked Piper if she had been cursed by Aphrodite. ( _Again, is she selfish for only mostly contacting friends when she has crises of her own? Is this why maintaining relationships have been so difficult for her?_ ) 

Their conversation had always been light, rarely progressing beyond a quarterly check-in here and there. In some ways, they haven’t had a real conversation since they were on board of the Argo II together. 

For the past few years, Annabeth had always felt guilty that she couldn’t provide more support when Piper, Jason, Apollo and company fought against Caligula. Sure, she was occupied and needed in Boston then, but Jason’s death had made it difficult for her to face Piper for quite some time.

When she heard and came to Apollo’s aid in New York, it had been a little too late.

“How did you know I would be here?” Piper asks in reply, but Annabeth doesn’t answer. They both know why. 

Annabeth sits herself next to Piper on the marble steps and she squeezes Piper’s hand. Piper sighs softly, and places her head on Annabeth’s shoulders.

The skies are clear and the Moon shines brightly.

“I haven’t been back in so long,” she started, “last time I was here, Jason was alive.” Annabeth doesn’t dare to breathe for a second. She grips Piper’s hand more tightly. 

“The night before we left Camp Half-Blood together for the last time, we met right here and he flew us to the lava wall, and we kissed,” Piper pushes on, gesturing to the direction of the wall. “We were _happy_ . And I just had to ruin that. For some reason, I just had to think that Hera and other gods were out to get me and so, I couldn’t appreciate what we had for what it was. I am so _blind_ for a daughter of Aphrodite.”

Piper laughed, but it was more like a croak.

“I was so stupid. Jason didn’t even get to have a good few last months.”

“Pipes, you don’t have to talk about this,” Annabeth started, but she stops at the look that Piper gives her. It felt something along the lines of _no offense, but you won’t understand_ but oh, she does. Annabeth knows what it feels to have the past haunt the present for a really, really long time. Still, she doesn’t let her expressions betray her feelings on this and listens.

“I know it’s been six years, but this place brings back so many memories. This temple of a cabin will never change in our lifetime,” Piper gestures at Cabin One, “time doesn’t flow for the gods, and to them we will never matter. Jason dies, and the only people who remember him still are the last of us, here.”

Annabeth ponders this and feels that she wants to cry, too, but she holds it in. 

Piper lifts her head from Annabeth’s shoulder, and sits up, determined. She turns around and says, “Annabeth, we can’t lose another friend. We can’t have Leo taken away from us again. Nobody else cares but he has us and Calypso. Promise me that we’ll get him back.”

“Piper, you know no one can guarantee--”

“Don’t say that, promise me we’ll try our best.” Piper cuts in sharply.

“Okay, I promise,” Annabeth hates promising things that she may not be able to deliver for, but what else can she do?

She just hopes that this isn’t a repeat of Bianca di Angelo.

xl.

“Hey,” Annabeth approaches the Big House a little before dawn. Piper isn’t there yet, but Calypso is sitting on the steps, playing with her braid. 

Last night, Piper insisted that she stay by Cabin One for a little longer and Annabeth let her. When Annabeth got to her cabin and looked back, Piper was touching her lip and looking at the stars. It was one of the saddest things Annabeth has seen recently. 

“Hey yourself,” Calypso says, standing up. Annabeth pulls herself back to the present. 

She feels awkward, seeing Calypso. She shifts her backpack from one shoulder to the other, and feels extremely self conscious. Annabeth wonders if she should have made an effort to brush her hair a little more this morning. 

Last time they were this close with one another, Calypso was seeing her off Ogygia. They kissed goodbye.

Duly, Annabeth notes that Calypso doesn’t smell like moonlace anymore. She also isn’t wearing her white chiffon dress from before. Calypso looks much older, but her eyes are the same. Annabeth isn’t interested in Calypso anymore -- _of course not_ \-- but for a moment, she feels some of the longing she once developed as a fifteen-year-old. It feels like so many lifetimes ago.

It is more the nostalgia and the memory of emotions rather than any actual feelings.

“You’re looking great,” Annabeth says, unsure what to say to someone who she once deemed as her biggest ‘what-if.’ Should she thank Calypso for not cursing her for never successfully releasing her from Ogygia? _What_ do you say to someone like that?

Calypso lets out a small laugh. “I’m not sure if that is true,” she comments dryly, “but Annabeth, you _do_ look great. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” 

_Nine years_ , Annabeth wants to comment, but she doesn’t. They hadn’t sought each other out after Calypso was released, their past kept firmly as a secret (a fever dream) neither acknowledged.

Deep down, this is another source of guilt. Annabeth never helped to get Calypso off her island, even though she said she’ll try.

“It’s been too long,” Annabeth says, choosing her words carefully, “I’m sorry that I didn’t visit you and Leo in Waystation. College has been--”

“--Busy, I know. I’m finishing up my bachelors’ at IU right now, so I completely understand. I should have visited you, too, but there’s been a lot to get used to in this world.”

Annabeth nods. She turns her head to the side so she doesn’t have to look at Calypso in the eyes. 

Calypso, for her credit, stays quiet graciously, satisfied with just drinking in the barest slivers of sunlight in the horizon as the sun rises. 

Annabeth sneaks a peek at her, wondering if the Titaness regrets forgoing her immortality for a mortal boy and now, embarking on a more-than-dangerous quest to save him.

She wonders if anyone will do the same for her, one day.


	9. black water (take over)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> awkward quest times make annabeth feel weird; also, why is everyone telling her to be careful? she can handle herself!!

"I need nothing

To travel the sea

But there's something

Eating at me"

~ _Black Water_ by Of Monsters and Men

* * *

xli.

“Annabeth, wait,” Grover stops her two steps before she leaves Camp for the quest. “Good luck,” he says, handing her a bandana for her hair as well as a tube of SPF5000 sunscreen, “take care, okay?”

Annabeth is touched, and she feels guilty, again. Yet another friend she’s left behind: one of her best friends from years past. Once upon a time, their empathy link saved them both again and again.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Annabeth says, conveying as much sincerity as she can in her voice. 

“That’s what I am here for,” Grover says, reaching out with his arms. Annabeth complies. She notes that they finally look to be about the same age.

“I missed you,” Annabeth mutters, but she freezes when she hears what Grover whispers to her. 

“ _The god of riptides_ is dangerous. Do you know what his name stands for?”

xlii. 

“This is the first time that I’m on an all-female quest, go team!” Annabeth comments, trying to break through some of that awkward silence that’s accumulated among the group.

They had just gotten on a Greyhound set for Albany, New York.

“This is the first time I’m on an official quest, I think,” Calypso says. A younger Annabeth would resist telling her that it’s not really an official quest when the Oracle of Delphi did not issue them a prophecy to begin with, but Annabeth has matured from that version and she nods encouragingly.

However, Piper stays silent and Annabeth winces when she realizes how Piper’s last quest turned out for her. _Time for a topic change._

“Anyway, we head north, right?” Annabeth asks.

“Yes,” Calypso says, and Piper looks relieved to focus her thoughts on the quest instead. “Last I know, Leo was heading for Montreal to look for something in the city. Something for Festus. I don’t know what for and I didn’t follow because I had my summer classes… I know I should have.” She anxiously unbraids and rebraids her hair. “He was around Albany last we chatted, and he told me that he thought someone or something was following him. He told me not to worry. When I didn’t hear back the next day, I IM’ed Chiron immediately and got to Camp.”

Annabeth nods. Okay, so they’ll get to where Leo was last, and then they will carefully retrace his footsteps by heading further north.

“So Leo has Festus with him, right?” Piper asks slowly, some glints of hope palpable in her eyes.

“Yes, of course. He flew to Albany with Festus--”

“--then we can use Festus’ homing device to track--”

“--it didn’t work.”

Silence falls over the trio. Of course Calypso has checked that already.

“I’m sure we’ll find him,” Piper says, finally. “We have to.”

It’s well known that things rarely work out the right way for demigods, but neither Annabeth nor Calypso says so. They ride in silence during the rest of the ride up to Albany.

xliii. 

_Annoyance_ comes in the form of a fearsome pair: the Sphinx and the Manticore in an Albany shopping mall. So much for grabbing lunch.

Honestly, Annabeth Chase is tired and sick of all of her old foes coming for her, all within the span of three months after years of _quiet_. What is going on? 

“You don’t want to fight me,” she says to the pair, “remember the last time?”

The hesitancy they exhibit shows that _yes, they do remember the last time_ yet they charge at the trio anyway. Annabeth sighs and puts her invisibility cap on, unsheathing her dagger. It’s been a while since she has fought, so she prays that her senses don’t fail her in battle.

Piper tries to charmspeak the monsters to _stop and leave_ and Calypso controls the invisible wind spirits to help them in battle, but Annabeth quickly realizes that they may need some backup soon. She tries to swipe at the monsters but their spiky tails swing wildly, preventing her from any forms of short range attack. _She really should obtain a long-range weapon,_ Annabeth thinks, before dodging and narrowly avoids having her head be impaled by one of the poison-dripping spikes.

Annabeth is forced to go further backwards, when she notices two wooden totems on the floor, looking oddly like the monster pair--

“Watch out!” Piper calls, and Annabeth throws herself away from the windows of a Gap store just as the glass shatters from some projectile the Sphinx had thrown at her with its massive bird wings. 

“Thanks,” she calls out, signaling to her friends that she is safe. Still invisible, Annabeth knows that she needs to devise a strategy, fast. 

“ _Answer the Question_ ,” Annabeth shouts at the Sphinx, “we never finished the game last time. Give me riddles and I will answer every single one of them this time. I swear.” The last time Annabeth encountered the Sphinx, she was prideful and that nearly killed her and her friends. Never again -- she will entertain the Sphinx to get out of this mess.

The Sphinx turns away from Piper for a moment and considers the proposal. “There are two sisters; one gives birth to the other, who in turn gives birth to the first. Who are they?” The Sphinx asks.

“Night and Day,” Annabeth answers. _Too easy, just as before_ , she thinks. 

“What is Thetis’ prophecy?” The Sphinx continues.

“Her son would surpass his father in might and glory,” Annabeth counters. She is familiar with this one; after all, it applies to a sea god she likes.

“Very good--” The Sphinx continues, but the Manticore (who was once Dr. Thorn) growls in impatience and throws himself to Calypso, who is not prepared enough to anticipate the attack and fend for herself. 

Piper rushes to help, but the Sphinx snaps out of her riddle-loving phase and sends a row of poisoned spikes to her. The thorn hits Piper’s leg and she screams in pain. 

“No,” Annabeth breathes, running to Calypso. The Manticore has a death grip on her, and he’s squeezing harder and harder. He’s crushing Calypso and they don’t have long. Annabeth knows that she won’t make it to Calypso and the Manticore in time to help. Last time she faced The Manticore, others were there to help. She can’t do this alone. 

Annabeth pulls on her sand dollar necklace. _Please come right now, Perseus, Calypso needs help and I want to use my favor, please please please --_ Annabeth prays.

 _I’m sorry I didn’t IM you last night,_ Annabeth adds for good measure.

She _feels_ his presence before seeing him. 

The Manticore’s grip slacks and Calypso falls to the floor; the creature twists onto itself with a nasty _crunch_. 

It feels cold, which is odd in August, but there is also an accompanying feeling of emptiness along with the chill. There is a sort of tangy static in the air, emitting a strange sense of foreboding, similar to one before a summer thunderstorm. Annabeth realizes that it is some of Percy’s essence seeping through the atmosphere.

Annabeth does not let this faze her, and runs to the Sphinx, which is now closing on Piper. She avoids the spikes carefully and drives her dagger into the monster’s torso, slicing. It is a pity, really, because she has rather liked showing that she knows all the answers to The Sphinx’s riddles--

“To your right,” she hears his voice -- he must have finished off the Manticore already. With readied stances, they attack the Sphinx together. They match each other’s rhythm so well that it’s almost laughable how easy the fight has become.

It ends in seconds, and Annabeth runs to Piper. Piper is barely conscious, and Annabeth mutters countless apologies under her breath as she pulls the thorn out from her friend’s leg. Piper screams. With shaking hands, Annabeth feeds her some water and ambrosia, and mutters a quick prayer to Apollo. 

Piper calms in a second and drifts off to unconsciousness.

In the corner of her eye, Annabeth sees Percy walking to Calypso, offering the Titaness a hand to help her get up and saying something to her in a volume that is too low for Annabeth to hear. He also conjures a bottle of water for Calypso as she breathes in deeply, recovering from the crushing hold of the Manticore. Luckily, nothing seems to be amiss.

Unluckily, Annabeth feels a strong stab of jealousy.

xliv. 

“Thanks for coming,” Annabeth starts, but Percy’s eyes are unreadable.

“You’re welcome, but I came for Calypso,” he nods in Calypso’s direction before disappearing in a crisp ‘pop’.

xlv. 

That night, Annabeth and Calypso sit by a campfire. Piper has already been asleep for the past few hours, drained by her injuries from the earlier fight. 

They were going to get a motel room, really, but the campground was only a little distance away from the mall and they needed an isolated space for Piper to heal without too many mortals’ questioning.

“Do you want to take the first shift, or should I?” Annabeth asks Calypso.

“Either is fine,” Calypso says, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. Though Annabeth wants nothing more but to ask her about what her history with Percy was, she doesn’t. 

“You know Perseus, too,” Calyspo states, and Annabeth is only mildly surprised that Calypso chooses to bring this up.

“Yes,” Annabeth confirms, “but just barely.” 

Calypso studies Annabeth. Whatever conclusion she arrives on, she does not say. 

“How do you know him?” Annabeth wonders, but she isn’t sure if she wants to know.

“He stumbled upon my island once, like you,” Calypso decides to reveal.

“Oh,” Annabeth understands. _Why did he leave? He is a god, so he must have the ability to revisit Calypso if he chooses. What happened between the two of them?_

“He is too loyal for his own good,” Calypso says, as if answering Annabeth’s unasked question. “But that is over a thousand years ago so maybe he’s changed.”

Annabeth tries to digest this information, whatever that means.

After all, is it ever possible for gods to change?


	10. sisyphus (peered into the mist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as it stands, arrogance can really cost you. annabeth chase learns.

"I'm guessing that I've grown horns

I guess I'm human no more

I can tell I've rotted in your brain"

~ _Monster_ by dodie

[ Updated Spotify playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=-xFHW5GIRROWwAlaWghkeA)

* * *

xlvi.

“You like him,” Piper says accusingly when Calypso goes to buy their commuter tickets for the train to Boston in the morning. Calypso mentioned that Percy told her about the possibility of Leo being taken further east instead of Montreal.

“Who?” Annabeth feigns innocence.

“That god that showed up and fought next to you. His name is Peter or something--”

“Percy,” Annabeth corrects Piper before she can stop herself.

Piper looks pointedly at her.

“How long were you going to keep that a secret for?”

“There is no secret to keep; there is nothing between us.”

“So there _is_ a ‘us,’” Piper raises her eyebrow.

“No, absolutely not.”

xlvii. 

When they get to Boston’s _South Station_ , Annabeth breathes in deeply. 

She hasn’t returned since graduation last year, but she has not forgotten the taste of history that lingers in this city’s air, and the hot sticky humidity in late August that clings onto her skin. 

It’s a great day out, and Annabeth has no doubt that families are walking around the Commons, where children are feeding the ducks and running through the fountains at the height of summer. This is where she was born, and where she went to school, and for how little belonging she feels in this world, some part of Boston calls out to her as home.

But right now, at this moment, she is on a quest with Piper and Calypso, and they need to find Leo soon. She can go to the park for a leisurely stroll later.

The three women stand, on guard, right outside of the train station. Supposedly, they are some of the best warriors this demigod generation can offer, but they each hug their arms insecurely around themselves, worried about what is coming next and thinking about the future with great apprehension.

It isn’t long before they see a giant bronze dragon streak across the sky, flying faster than the speed of sound. Annabeth knows where they have to go. 

xlviii. 

Annabeth initially led the team based on her approximated direction of where the dragon flew from, but it became increasingly obvious exactly where they should head to as they neared downtown. The fleeing crowd makes it obvious that the general public had fled from whatever threat they saw, and Leo (plus whatever supernatural forces that he may be facing) would be at the epicenter of it all.

He is.

Leo looks worse for wear when they see him stumble out from _Downtown Crossing_ , by the entrance next to the Old State House.

There is thick smoke emerging from a pair of smashed-in metal gates and the air around them was so hot Annabeth could _see_ the atmosphere’s distortion; it was as if a giant fire-breathing dragon had forced itself through (and Annabeth knows that it was exactly that). Crumpled bricks litter the floor, and Leo is covered with soot, ash, and blood.

He sounds even worse. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cries, stuttering. “I’m so, so, sorry.” He kneels on the concrete, staring intensely at his still-steaming hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Leo!” Calypso exclaims, running up to him. Annabeth and Piper exchange a concerned look. Something is terribly wrong. _Why is Leo muttering apologies with every breath?_

“No,” Leo begs, “don’t.” He leans back and scrambles, calloused hands trying to find the ground to propel himself backwards. Panickedly, he scoots, concrete digging into his raw palms. Annabeth winces when she sees him scrape some of his skin off in that wild gesture. Calypso stops.

“Leo -- we found you, you are safe now,” Calypso says gently, but Leo’s eyes are wild and he isn’t listening.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry. Sorry.” He shakes his head and looks everywhere but at the trio. In his twenties, Leo is still short but he usually extrudes excess confidence and good cheer to make up for the lack in stature. At this moment, Annabeth only sees the shadow of a scared child. 

_Who_ did this to him? 

Calypso and Piper both take protective stances around Leo, maintaining some distance from him but still trying to find ways to placate their friend. Annabeth knows she isn’t needed there.

What she can do, however, is to scratch her itch for knowledge of what happened to Leo. Can this be tied back to the incident in the East River just two days ago? Her instinct tells her _yes_. 

So, when the smoke dissipates and the heat becomes manageable to withstand, Annabeth takes a peek inside of the hole of the T station. A grotesque scene, a room full of bodies littered around with melted faces, greets her. She gags at the stench of charred flesh, and when she hears the echoes of cell phones ringing off of the walls and feels the vague hint of foreboding apprehension that makes her skin crawl, she knows that they had to _run_.

il.

As it turns out, the fight is not over even after they fight off the humans (they _had to_ be humans, celestial bronze sail right through those men’s bodies) that were chasing them. Annabeth wonders if these men belong to a resurgence of the Triumvirate. She hopes not.

They have to recapture Festus so that they can use him to get out of Boston and fly back to Camp Half-Blood before anyone else catches up to them. However, it just so happens that Festus is not particularly cooperative at the moment; in fact, it feels like someone had hacked into the automaton and installed an entirely new, hostile, and highly irritable software. There is no cooperation. 

Festus whips through Boston, back and forth, as if taunting the quad for how unreachable freedom seems to be at the moment. It is annoying.

Leo is in no shape to control the automaton, lacking the ability to even sanely vocalize what had happened to him at the moment. Calypso is tending to him. Piper has little experience with the mechanics of the dragon and she is busy diverting some of their pursuers away via charmspeaking, so that leaves Annabeth to attempt taming Festus all by herself.

So, naturally, the next time Festus dips to the ground, she jumps and manages to latch onto one of its scales. If anyone can control the automaton, she thinks, it would be _her_.

Festus flies fast, indifferent to his new passenger. 

Annabeth feels a familiar thrill, once, when she figures out how to fly a plane as the plane is falling out of the sky, but this is different. She feels like she has little (no) control, being strung around in midair at impossibly high speeds. Her objective is to try and locate the metal dragon’s “off” button so it will a). stop terrorizing the good citizens of Boston and b). make Leo a little less distraught than he is.

Unfortunately, it seems like she is less and less likely to succeed and frankly, what she is doing is a reckless, thoughtless, outrageously impulsive display for arrogance for a daughter of Athena. Festus is hurling towards the Atlantic pass downtown Boston’s financial district and soon, she will be higher than Icarus was in the sky when his wings melted off.

Oh, how her hubris costs her again.

The winds are whipping past her hair harsher than anything she has experienced. It hurts. Annabeth can’t even open her eyes -- and of course, she doesn’t dare to let go of one of her hands to push her hair back.

Sometime along the ride, her bandana has fallen off, but she can care less.

The metal scales begin to cut deeply into her hand, and Annabeth knows that she has to move before her hands slip (from her blood and sweat) and she falls into the ocean. 

She pulls herself up, layer by layer, until she nearly reaches its neck, where she knows she can use a code Leo gave her once (a long time ago) to manually override Festus and drive him back down to Earth.

Annabeth’s thumb hits the first number on the keypad and for a split second, she feels ecstatic -- then the dragon turns its neck sharply and she falls.

There is little room to think when she falls because after all that she’s been through, Annabeth Chase cannot believe that this is how she goes.

It’s too soon, and she still has things to do, monuments to design, permanence to achieve. She still wants to mend things with her mortal family, and there are so many friends (if they still consider her as one after all these years) she’d like to catch up with and at least say goodbye to. And then, there’s this gorgeous sea god she wishes to know a little better, sometime in the future.

She isn’t ready to die, but she is approaching the water fast and at this speed, her fear doesn’t matter anyway. She will die as soon as she comes into contact with the surface and that will be the end of Annabeth Chase, two-time Hero of Olympus (and its official architect). They’ve always said that a demigod’s life is difficult. She should have listened.

Three seconds before impact, she _remembers_ , and she reaches towards her sand dollar, hoping that it’s not too late and that it’s not too embarrassing for her to call him for backup _two days_ in a row.

l.

A pair of sea green eyes greets her when she wakes, feeling numb, disoriented, and in pain. She brushes that aside and focuses her attention at the sea god in front of her. It is amusing how he peers at her intensely with those beautiful eyes, decorated with concerned, scrunched up eyebrows.

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” Annabeth comments, feeling sure that she must have died and gone to Hades’ realm.


	11. you can hear the waves (in underwater caves)

“We've built this town on shaky ground

I can't save us

My Atlantis, oh no

We've built it up to pull it down”

~ _Atlantis_

* * *

li.

“You are running out of favors quickly, Wise Girl,” Percy quips, looking at her with amused sea green eyes. 

Slowly, Annabeth feels her brain catch up to her and she reels in horror. She tries to sit up but pain flares in her back. Percy gently puts a hand on her shoulder, wordlessly asking her to lay back down. His hand feels warm.

“Rest, your friends are safe.” He says, peering into her eyes. He waits until Annabeth relaxes to continue. “They are at camp now.”

“How?” She manages to ask, fighting the thick smog of grogginess that has a hold on her consciousness.

“I got Apollo to help,” Percy bites his lip, shifting slightly uncomfortably. Seeing the question in her eyes, he supplies, “it’s an ‘unofficial quest,’ so I figured that some interference shouldn’t hurt. How do you think I was able to come to your aid yesterday?”

Annabeth is too tired to press further but she wonders just how much risk this boy took on her behalf; for now, she is just glad that Leo, Piper, and Calypso all made it back to Camp in one piece. She hopes that her friends don’t resent her for what had happened.

Annabeth closes her eyes, tired. 

She fights down a small smile. She doesn’t miss that Percy says he came to _her_ aid, specifically. She’ll savor that thought for later. 

lii. 

Later comes when her stomach growls, and Annabeth wakes with a slight gasp.

The first thing she remembers was how she called him _cute_ (when she _must_ have been high on anaesthetics or something of the sort) and the fact that he had saved her, _again_. Annabeth’s usually the one doing the saving, but ever since the run-in with the chimera, it feels like she’s playing the part of a damsel in distress.

She doesn’t like it.

Stretching her body, Annabeth wonders how long she has been asleep for. When she surveys the room, Percy is nowhere to be found. 

Instead, she finds a plate of blue cookies on a desk a little away from the window on the other side of the room, and some very, very peculiar sceneries outside. 

With some effort, Annabeth hoists herself up and crosses the room. It’s a victory when she makes it to the desk, which she uses to support herself.

“Hey,” someone says by the door, and she turns slowly. It’s Percy.

“I’m, uh, sorry about your phone. I couldn’t get to it in time,” he says lamely, gesturing wildly in her vague direction before putting his hands in his pocket, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“Um, it’s okay,” Annabeth says, only dimly registering that the metal parts on the desk next to the cookies are the remnants of her phone. The red bandana she dropped in the ocean lays next to it. 

“Feel free to have some cookies; I figured that you must be hungry.” Percy says, but she isn’t really listening.

“We’re underwater,” Annabeth states instead, turning back towards the window and observing.

Outside the _opened_ window, she sees an ocean of blue. It’s difficult to believe, but she must be in an underwater realm -- maybe even the famed lost city of Atlantis from the myths.

It’s fascinating how the water doesn’t rush in to drown her. Annabeth is tempted to run her hands by the water outside of the window, but she is also afraid. 

Thinking about the crushing depths of the water terrifies her. She is always one to hold tremendous reverence and respect for the forces of nature and their respective gods.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

The sea god comments softly, and Annabeth snaps her attention back from thinking about the vastness of the ocean to the room she is in, and the god who had just appeared. 

The room itself is gorgeous. The ceilings are lined with pieces of abalone shell and pearls, emitting a soft, iridescent glow. Annabeth feels peace seeping into her being. The architect in her also marvels at the designs that line the walls. Everything here is so beautiful.

 _That_ , her brain supplies helpfully, _includes_ the god in front of her, who seems to glow with ease and comfort being in his element. He seems younger, more youthful. A coronet sits comfortably on his head and she tries to not stare at his bare biceps. 

Oh, _right_ \-- the sea god is completely shirtless. 

Maybe that’s the norm as far as underwater fashion trends go, but Annabeth has to make an effort to try and make sure that her cheeks are not glowing red. She isn’t sure if she succeeds.

Briefly, some of the memories from that night some five months ago flashes in her brain. She shakes her head. It’s too much to think of that right now.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says after taking one of the cookies and eating it, not noticing her internal turmoil. “I wanted to make sure that you’re alright -- it’s easier for me to check in on you this way.”

Annabeth is touched because really, she owes him her life. 

Plus, the last time they saw each other before she decided to go on a joy ride thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean, he was clearly annoyed at her for ignoring him. She wonders if he feels that she is just using him. (She wonders if her other friends feel that way about her, too.)

“Thank you,” Annabeth says, but she doesn’t know what else to say. 

“You’re welcome,” he replies evenly. 

“Why did you save me?”

He gives her a strange look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Gods don’t usually care about mortals.”

“No, they don’t,” he agrees, giving her a pointed look.

 _Oh_.

“Why?” Annabeth presses yet again. She wants to accuse him and say that this must all be a game for him. But she doesn’t feel like that’s appropriate.

He listens to her and he bakes for her. And she does the same. Between the two, there must have been a dozen of long conversations here and there over the past few months. There isn’t anyone else in her life that she converses with quite as much outside of work.

She knows that he makes an effort to speak with her. She wouldn’t see him at all, otherwise. He is a god.

Still, _maybe_ it’s better to push someone away before they have the chance to abandon her. That’s just a general rule of life. Her parents taught her that. Luke and Thalia taught her that. So many demigods, past and present, also taught her that.

But then he steps closer.

“I think you know why,” he says, and she drinks in his presence. Being around him makes her feel giddy, _drunk_ on desire. She’s wanted him for a while and that has been an immutable truth.

Maybe he feels the same.

She can feel his hot breath on her forehead as he waits, lips too close for her to have the space to _think_. Still, Annabeth knows that he is letting her make a choice here.

Annabeth thinks about all the reasons she had previously listed on why this isn’t a good idea (and maybe it isn’t), but perhaps she can listen to her heart for once. Maybe she can let herself have this, even if this isn’t permanent.

“You’re a Seaweed Brain,” she decides.

“That sounds more like an insult than a nickname,” he observes. 

She shuts him up with a kiss. He tastes like blue chocolate chip cookies.

liii. 

“We’re doing this all backwards,” she says in between breaths.

“I’ll take you out on a date. Next week. I’ll pick you up.” he promises.

liv. 

Annabeth waits.

She looks out of the window again, marveling at what she can see of the underwater city. It seems that her room is attached to a wing of a larger structure; that begs the question: can Percy possibly be hiding a daughter of Athena in Poseidon’s underwater palace? She would be the first. (She thinks, at least. She isn’t sure.)

So _what_ does that mean?

What does kissing him mean?

What does it mean when a sea god asks you out?

There are many things that she doesn’t understand in this world, but Perseus the Sea God ranks the top of her list. Things were simpler when he was just a random “Percy Jackson” from the bar.

She hears a sharp rap on the door then, and for a moment, Annabeth is amazed at how quickly Percy took care of whatever godly business he _had_ to step out in the middle of their make-out session for, but she quickly deduces that it cannot be him.

He wouldn’t knock.

Not like the visitor cares much for manners anyway, because the door swings open in the next second, and a two-tailed merman transforms his tails into legs before stepping into the room, regarding her with cold sea green eyes.

“You’re that daughter of Athena,” the deity states, and she nods. 

Annabeth is not one to be intimidated, but having a sea god angry at her when she is at the bottom of the ocean is generally not a good idea.

“Yes, sir,” she replies, treading carefully. 

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, you are Lord Triton,” Annabeth replies. She has seen the likeness of Triton when she worked with her designs for camp and for Olympus. 

“Good, I expect no less from the children of Athena.” 

Annabeth remembers a story that Malcolm had told her nearly a decade ago. Triton had a daughter named Pallas who used to practice the arts of war with Athena. As the result of a quarrel, Athena impulsively wounded Pallas. 

Pallas died and Athena was distraught when she fully realized what she had done. In her sorrow, she made a wooden statue of the girl which was called the Palladium, and took on the name Pallas as tribute. 

Annabeth wonders if Triton still holds a grudge from that.

It seems like a theme, really; Annabeth pays a lot for her mother’s past.

“Why are you here?” Annabeth asks, wincing as she realizes how this may be interpreted as less than polite. 

“I _live_ here. And beyond disliking the fact that my _brother_ had decided, rather impulsively, to take you here, I come with a warning.”

“Oh?”

“You are a distraction, Annabeth Chase. You are clever enough to know that mortals are not meant to be with gods and my brother is no exception. He is too foolish to realize that himself; I am sure that we can both agree.”

Triton looks at her with a mix of pity and exasperation. She knows that he sees her as a child. He sees both her and Percy as children. 

Annabeth bites back her retort, thinking of a way to safely address this condescending god and not sound defensive at the same time, but before she can do so, she is already home.

Triton teleported her back.

Her backpack, her bandana, and the crushed parts of her cell phone lays quietly on her repaired kitchen table. The blue cookies are nowhere to be seen.

lv.

It’s only been four and a half days, but it feels like a lifetime since she’s been in her apartment. 

Still, everything looks exactly the same as before she left.

Annabeth takes a shower, slowly, and enjoys a brief moment on a quiet Sunday afternoon before emailing her firm’s human resources to let them know she can come back to work the next day as she said she would last Tuesday night.

After so many quests, she’s gotten pretty good at estimating how long she would be gone for these things.

Dinner is quiet; Annabeth seats herself in front of her television. When she shifts, there is a new, unboxed smart phone along with a simple note on her couch. It’s in Ancient Greek.

_I’m sorry about my brother; b_ _ut I’ll see you soon. -P_


	12. you're a sunflower (i think your love would be too much)

“I do my best to meet her demands

Play at romance, we slow dance

In the living room, but all that a stranger would see

Is one girl swaying alone

Stroking her cheek”

~Liability by Lorde

* * *

lvi. 

On Monday, Annabeth Chase drags her sorry self to work. The coffee machine in the break room is broken, but she doesn’t have time to grab a cup from the street below. She sighs, and trudges back towards her desk. 

“I’m surprised that you came in today, Annabeth,” Becky quips as Annabeth sits.

“Hello to you too, Becky,” Annabeth says quietly, praying for whatever higher power that is listening in to have Becky Bobofit _kindly_ leave her alone. 

“Well, thank you for not bidding against me for the spot on Delphine’s team late last week. It’ll be exciting working on renovations for One Times Square. Pity that you can’t join us.”

Annabeth resists the urge to roll her eyes so that she can remain professional. “You’re welcome. And you know, you don’t have to feel threatened by me, Becky.” 

Annabeth didn’t plan to bid for that project anyways; she already has enough on her plate. Delphine, a partner at _Pallas &Co. _, actually offered her a position on the project early last week, before the quest pulled her away.

But _Becky_ doesn’t need to know any of that, and Annabeth is too tired to throw another condescending remark back.

Thankfully, Becky huffs and leaves.

Annabeth sighs and stares at her company’s logo on the wall. _Pallas_. Her mother’s name. 

Annabeth wonders what Athena thinks of the quest that had just concluded (especially regarding those mortal men that chased them through Boston) or the sea god Annabeth has been in recent close contacts with. 

_Athena probably doesn't know._ Annabeth shakes her head and decides that is a problem for her future self.

Instead, she taps into her “contacts” application and lets out a small smile. 

_Who’s the real winner_ , she thinks, _when I’ve got a sea god’s contacts in my phone?_

lvii. 

On Tuesday, Annabeth finally gathers the courage to Iris Message Piper, who is still back at Camp. 

“How is Leo?” Annabeth asked, slightly ashamed that she wasn’t there to see her friends on their journey back from Boston. 

“Physically, he’s fine…” Piper starts, biting her lips, brows furrowing together.

“And mentally?” Annabeth pressed.

“I’m not sure, but I know he’s not well. We're trying to work it out. Apollo says he needs time.” Piper looks to the side. It stings Annabeth's heart, slightly, that the 'we' Piper refers to does not include Annabeth. Maybe it never did. 

Alas, Annabeth thinks back to Chris Rodriguez, another demigod driven mad by this fucked up supernatural world that they are all unfairly thrown into. She wonders how Clarisse bore all those months (before Dionysus decided to take pity and heal Chris), caring for someone who was as good as lost.

“Is there anything I can do?” Annabeth offers weakly.

Piper gives a shaky smile in return. “There is nothing any of us can do for Leo now. He just needs time, hopefully, this too shall pass.”

Annabeth nods. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Piper says, “this is not your fault. You tried.”

 _And failed_ , Annabeth adds bitterly internally. Maybe things would be different if she were successful at retrieving Festus from the skies.

“There is one thing, though.” Piper says and Annabeth looks up into the Iris Message, bracing herself.

“What is it?”

“You should be careful. This attack… It’s not an exception. These men were deliberate in capturing Leo, and there have been reports of several attacks around the country from the demigod network, all within similar time frames. Chiron asked most campers to either return to one of the two camps or to make an extra effort keeping a low profile. He knows that you can handle yourself, but he asked me to tell you to be careful. Something is stirring.” 

_Again._ That word is left unsaid, but it hangs between Annabeth and Piper. 

This warning feels cryptic and heavy in Annabeth’s stomach. And even though Piper doesn’t say it, Annabeth knows they both have an inkling as to who may be responsible for all this.

She hates what the implications are.

lviii.

On Wednesday, Annabeth sighs and leans back against her couch. 

She got off of work “early” today (leaving the office at exactly seven o’clock), and she can’t help but dwell on the promise Percy made her earlier in the week. 

Annabeth feels like a child from the whole ordeal: not only is she still reeling from the brief conversation with Triton, but she also is flabbergasted as to how she can proceed with what has with Perseus the sea god.

Percy as an individual? Yes, absolutely; she enjoys being with him, greatly.

But beneath those charms (and the understanding, and the company, and the baking, oh, the _baking_ \--) remains a deity who’s seen eons more than she can ever imagine.

His intentions seem pure, but little warnings have already been popping up left and right. She wants to give them a fair chance, but is a relationship what she wants? Is a relationship what _he_ wants? Is something like that even possible?

Annabeth knows that she is getting ahead of herself, but she has already turned down immortality once. It is not something that she wants to entertain again.

She doesn’t want to be under the control of the gods for eternity. The only reason that Zeus offered this gift to her, Annabeth suspects, is because he feels that she (and Thalia, and Luke) became much too unwieldy. With Thalia becoming a hunter and Luke dying, she is the only variable left. Even her mother hinted that she has made the right choice, in the end. Something about retaining her freedom and building permanence that are actually long-lasting without being the definition of it. 

Sighing, Annabeth glances at her phone on the counter and wonders if she should text _him_ to get some clarity. 

Just as she ponders, a knock sounds on her apartment door, and she bounces up. 

As she walks to the door, Annabeth quickly looks at her reflection from the shiny surface of her refrigerator. She crudely combs her hand through her hair before rebuttoning her blouse. It is fortunate that she hasn’t taken off her work clothes yet. She feels more composed and in control this way. 

“Took you long enough,” she mutters as she opens her door. “I was going to text you, but I know you must be busy--”

She looks at the blonde haired boy in front of her. “--Oh, it’s you.” Annabeth says, realizing how rude she is coming off as and backtracks, “I don’t mean it that way. It’s good to see you, Will.”

“Not expecting me?” Will smiles, inviting himself in.

“No.”

“And who exactly were you expecting?” He raises an eyebrow, questioning Annabeth as she tries to fight down a blush.

“No one in particular.” She states.

Will shakes his head, putting down a take out box from a bakery nearby. _Bless him._ “I’ve known you for over ten years now, Annabeth. Come on. You know better than to lie to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Annabeth shakes her head, not ready to confront the recent developments she has had with Percy with her friends yet. “Why did you bring cookies? They smell delicious.”

“I heard about the quest you went on; you didn’t even tell me about that! I had to find out from Nico.”

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth apologizes, “I didn’t mean for you to worry.”

“I’m just kidding,” Will nudges her, “I knew that you didn’t have time to call everyone and let them know. I’m just glad that you’re okay. Any injuries I should know about?”

“Thanks, and no, I'm good.” Annabeth acknowledges, sitting down on the couch. Will follows suit.

Will frowns, observing her. “You’re not really okay. Why?”

“I’m just worried about Leo.”

This time, it’s Will’s turn to sigh. “I examined him. So did my dad. He’s traumatized… By what he had to do to escape.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Will looks at Annabeth, searching for something in her eyes and choosing his words carefully. “I think you might already know; Piper says that you peeked into the T station and saw the men that Leo… that Leo burned.”

_Burned to death._

There were too many things for Annabeth to process that afternoon, and her brain had done a phenomenal job blocking out most of the trauma since she woke up in Atlantis.

But still, Annabeth remembers. 

The thought of the melted faces and the associated scent was enough to make her gag and dampen her appetite. She puts her cookie down.

“Sorry,” Will winces. “I’ll stop bringing that up.”

“It’s okay,” Annabeth says, “this is nothing compared to what Leo was forced to do.”

Will nods. He turns on the TV and flips through different Netflix offerings mindlessly. Annabeth appreciates her friend's attempt in distracting her.

She watches and does not offer further comments, thinking through last week’s quest a little more thoroughly. Annabeth knows that she can’t ignore what Piper says, on monsters, on mortals, and on the fragility of mortality. But what can she do about that knowledge? 

lix. 

“You are the one who told Grover about Percy--”

“--I’m just looking out for you. Perseus is a god. You know how these things go.”

“Don’t you know I know that? I’m still grappling with it all myself.” Annabeth frowns, feeling betrayed. If she is not as close with Will (and knowing that her friend has the best of all intentions), she would have asked him to leave already. 

“I’m sorry that I told him. I just want to make sure that you’re safe.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I know that.” Will acknowledges respectfully. 

Annabeth sighs, feeling a little bad for how harsh (however justified) she is being. “Look, thank you for looking out, but I know the risks. I’m just figuring this out as I go. I'll be careful.”

Will gives her a sad look and she hates that. He looks at her as if she is an unfolding mess of a Greek tragedy.

More than anything, Annabeth hates that if the roles are reversed between her and Will, she would have done exactly what Will did. It is only _logical_ to avoid gods as potential love interests.

lx.

On Thursday, Annabeth almost wishes that work can keep her a little longer so she would have an excuse as to why she can’t go to a mini-reunion her college acquaintances are holding at the Harvard Club of New York.

...It is every bit as pretentious as it sounds. 

Alas, Annabeth doesn’t have a lot of mortal friends so she wants to keep the few of whom she can consider as one. The sad alternative for her is to stay home and start up another tv series. Now that she’s finished with _Crash Landing On You_ , she is almost frightened to start another. 

These soap operas give her unrealistic expectations of what romance can be. 

Nevertheless, she loves to pretend that she is _normal_. Normal is good. Normal is a life without monsters. Normal is what she’s wanted all along. 

Sometimes she just needs to remind herself that. 

*

“Look who’s here!” Lauren says, standing up from the wooden table in the opulent dining room and giving Annabeth a hug. Annabeth returns it with grace.

“How have you been?” Lingzi asks, smiling. 

“Good, just busy. You know how work can be,” Annabeth answers while the others on the table nods in understanding. She sits, putting her work bag on the floor and her phone on the table.

“Yeah, Sarah can’t make it tonight because there’s a last minute fire drill on her study.” Katherine says and everyone sighs in sympathy. Some forty percent of Harvard graduates go into consulting and finance, which are both demanding sectors. Being in New York City, Annabeth’s college acquaintances are all mostly in these professions; they understand what work can be like.

“Anyways, it’s good to see you, Annabeth. We haven’t seen you in a few months by now. What have you been up to?”

Annabeth carefully recounts some tidbits about work, providing some anecdotes on the interesting projects she is currently on. 

She can see Amy’s careful nods, Lingzi’s curated smiles, Lauren’s polite affirmations, and Katherine’s orchestrated hmms. It all feels very superficial and transactional. Maybe she doesn’t belong in that world (as her father does), but it is a world she tries hard to fit into.

Many pleasantries and an appetizer later, Katherine goes for the jugular. “So, Annie, have you finally found a boy?”

Annabeth chokes on her margarita.

“We were just wondering. We know, ah, things didn’t end up well between you and _you-know-who_ in undergrad, and since Amy just got engaged, you’re the last one in the group. We’re just curious.” Lauren says.

Annabeth shoots Lauren a betrayed look before looking at the rest of the group. Lingzi shrugs, meeting Annabeth’s eyes and shaking her head slightly, signaling that she has no idea where this conversation comes from.

Frowning, Annabeth knows that there must be some gossip of her love life behind her back. She is definitely not appreciative of that. She also dislikes the reference to her ex, Jack, and wants to remind the group that she’s bi. Besides, she isn’t even really looking to get together with someone.

Annabeth contemplates if she should call that out, when her phone rings.

Her friends direct their curious gazes from her to her cell phone on the table.

“Seaweed Brain? Who is that?” Katherine reads the incoming call notification on the screen.

Annabeth carefully masks her giddiness and accepts the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, I heard a few mortals are giving you a hard time.”

Annabeth sighs. “They are friends from school.” She says, only feeling slightly self conscious that her 'friends' are listening in.

“Some friends they are,” Percy comments, keeping his tone lighthearted. “Look to your right.” He hangs up.

From the table, Annabeth looks towards the entrance of the dining room. 

She tries to suppress a blush, but she is sure that it is obvious to any bystander what an effect the sea god is having on her. 

He’s wearing business casual (adhering to the Club’s dress code), a white dress shirt and some dark slacks. His sea green tie nicely matches his eyes. He doesn’t look like a young-twenty-something professional (as nearly everyone else does in the Club, on a Thursday evening). He looks like a model right out of a magazine.

“Annabeth,” Amy says tightly, “who is this?”

“He’s so hot he looks like a Greek god,” Katherine mutters, and Annabeth feels a surge of satisfaction. (Sure, call her shallow, but Annabeth feels a rush of victory nonetheless.)

“Not bad,” Lauren says, which translates to _I am losing my mind_.

Percy doesn’t seem fazed. 

“I’m glad that you didn’t start the main course yet. I said I’d take you out on a date, remember?”

Annabeth isn’t sure if she wants to cry or laugh (or die from humiliation), but Percy puts a HCNY member voucher down on the table as payment and takes her bag from the side of the table. He tugs her sleeve lightly, offering his arm. “Let’s go.”

Eyes shining, Annabeth takes his arm, thinking and hoping that this is the beginning of something instead of the end.

**A/N:** **The world's been shit. Black Lives Matter. So if you can, please[donate](https://www.thecut.com/2020/05/george-floyd-protests-how-to-help-where-to-donate.html). If you send me a receipt of your donation, I'll match it. I mean it. Send it to me via my[ Discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4). I'll match up to $200 (may increase once I get my next paycheck) and I'll send you my receipts, too. **

**On a slightly cheerier note, do let me know if you guys like a** _ happy ending _ **or a** _ sad ending _ **. I've always been curious. And who knows? That may or may not influence things for this fic.**

(commissioner: me; artist: leovaldewz - for chapter 5 on Olympus)


	13. all my past lives (they've got nothing on me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why does everything feel so familiar? it's like she knows him in a different life or something... but how can that ever be? she's just being silly.

“Past lives couldn't ever hold me down

Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found

I've got the strangest feeling

This isn't our first time around”

~ _Past Lives_ by BORNS

[ Please listen to _Past Lives_ as you read this chapter. I’m _begging_ you. ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=-741WY4GSWiUhDXOj3Hx9Q)

* * *

lxi. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Annabeth lets out a surprised laugh as the Eiffel tower sparkles in front of her.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“Are you kidding me? I love it,” Annabeth shakes her head. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“What am I doing?” Percy feigns cluelessness. “I am just treating you for a date. Like you said, we were doing this all backwards.”

Annabeth doesn’t dwell too much on what _this_ is.

She smiles, but she leaves some thoughts unsaid. While Annabeth appreciates all this, she doesn’t need any grand gestures. All she wants is someone who is always there and some semblance of reliability and permanence. However, that feels like a lot to ask a sea god she’s only kissed a couple of times and met five and some months prior as a (supposed) one night stand. She swallows her words. 

“What, what are you making a face? You don’t like Bleu d’Auvergne? I knew I should have gotten Reblochon instead.” Percy says, shaking his head in dismay. He makes a motion to snap his fingers, but Annabeth touches his wrist lightly to stop him. She shakes her head slightly with a small smile.

“That’s not it? You keep me guessing. Want to have some wine instead?” He asks earnestly.

“I’ve got work tomorrow--”

“It’s six o’clock East Coast time,” he says, “and I know you were having a marg when I whisked you away from your ‘friends.’”

“Fine.”

“Good. It’s _midnight_ in Paris. We’ve got to live a little.” He picks up a bottle and snatches a wine glass out of thin air. Annabeth blinks in surprise but composes herself quickly. Greek gods live for their dramatic flares; she should be used to this by now.

“How romantic,” Annabeth comments, but she can’t suppress her wide grin. “This probably can rival Aphr--”

Quicker than she can blink, Percy put a finger to her lips to shush her. “We don’t say her name here. I don’t want her to meddle in this.”

“Oh right, sorry. That’s probably a good idea,” Annabeth agrees, sipping on her glass of rose. It all feels so dreamy, like it’s right out of a movie. But Annabeth knows better than to think that something like this can come easy. 

lxii. 

“I wish we could capture this moment,” Annabeth says, her hand warm and intertwined with Percy’s. “Thanks for the great night; I think this is the best first date I could have ever asked for.”

“Does that mean there will be a second?” The god asked, his cheeks flushed gold and eyes _literally_ glowing with happiness.

“Maybe,” Annabeth says, pretending to think. His eyebrows scrunch together again, in that very cute way that Annabeth likes. After a few heartbeats, she decides that she’s tortuend him enough and nods. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he says, relieved. “You scared me,” he comments, before standing up and flagging down one of the other few couples on the lawn. 

“Percy, what are you doing?” He ignores her and says something rapidly in French to the women before handing one of the ladies his phone. Annabeth decides that Percy speaking fluent French is the sexiest thing she’s seen all year. 

The two pose for several pictures in front of the Eiffel, feeling a little awkward, but Percy gives her a quick kiss on the temple for the last one before taking his phone back and mutters a quick “ _merci_ ” to the couple.

“These look nice, don’t they?” He asks, scrolling through his phone, too quickly for Annabeth to properly see the photos. But Annabeth isn’t looking at the pictures anyways, she quietly observes him and the way the summer air blows through his hair. 

It’s so quiet and peaceful. Annabeth wishes that she has a memory capsule to capture that feeling instead.

Percy notices her state so he conjures his phone away, putting it in an invisible pocket of air. He smiles at her. “You alright?”

She nods faintly, seeing the light reflect in his eyes as they look at her with so much intensity. They swirl with expectations and hope; she likes his ocean eyes. They suit him.

The two share a moment, drinking each other in. 

Something tugs at Annabeth’s mind. She struggles to shake the air of familiarity: it’s strange for her to feel that, because she has never been to Paris before. Nor had she seen the sea god anywhere beyond New York or Atlantis. 

Yet, she remembers this like a dream. Somewhere in time, she gazed at Percy and saw the future in him under the shining lights of the Eiffel.

She wishes she can shake the feeling of missing something she’s never known. It makes her oddly sad.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, shaking her from her reverie, giving no hint that he, too, experiences that strange nostalgia of what could have been.

“What?” she asks instinctively, before digesting what he just asks; her ADHD makes this a bit of a tendency. Percy understands; he waits patiently.

Her brain jumps to the few times she initiated kisses when they played cat and mouse with each other. But now, it seems like he finally gets the hint. She smirks and says, “only because you asked so nicely, Seaweed Brain.”

Percy laughs, and before Annabeth can busy herself being self conscious about potentially being a blubbering mess, he brings his lips to her. 

It’s only been five days since they last kissed, but she’s missed it. Something about him tastes like home.

lxiii. 

Sundays aren’t that fun, because it’s the day before work starts again for the week. This Sunday is particularly _not_ fun because Annabeth has to deal with her father. 

Annabeth wants to refuse his request for brunch but she doesn’t have a good excuse: Percy is busy, and she has nothing better to do on a lazy Sunday morning. Plus, she would feel terribly guilty if she doesn’t go. Annabeth always feels that way when it comes to her mortal family. 

“Annabeth,” Frederick Chase greets her when she arrives, “it’s been a while.”

Annabeth nods; it’s been eight months and some since she was home for winter break. 

She stands by the table her father is seated in when she gets to the restaurant, unsure on what the expected etiquette is. Her dad stands up and waves awkwardly, before clearing his throat and sitting back in his seat. Annabeth feels secretly relieved that her father doesn’t feel the need to hug it out this time around. 

*

“What have you been up to?” Her father asks.

Annabeth debates telling him the truth but _what for?_ Nothing will change anyway.

“I worry about you,” her father continues, brows slightly wrinkling.

“Why?” Annabeth snaps, wincing as her tone comes out to be harsher than she intends it to be.

“Because you’re my daughter, Annabeth,” he explains, sighing. “You know that you are always welcomed at home. Your apartment is only a train ride away from ours.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Annabeth acknowledges in a non-committal tone.

“Are you still angry at Helen? You know how very sorry she has been.” _You chose to run away_ , his eyes seem to say.

“Are you talking about her not believing me when I said I was plagued by spiders?” Annabeth asks, incredulous. “That’s seventeen years ago, so I don’t care about that anymore.”

 _But she does._ That’s where Annabeth’s mind jumps right away to, anyway. 

“I just don’t understand why you never came back. We could have been a family.”

Annabeth scoffs.

“Annabeth,” Frederick says wearily, “you didn’t even give her a second chance. She tried to speak with you that winter, after Mt. Tamalppais, too. Anyway, it’s still not too late.” 

“It’s too late since the day I left,” she bites back sourly, “she drove me away and you didn’t stop her.” _And because of that, I had to suffer the world of the gods many years earlier than it was ever warranted._ Annabeth thinks.

Thankfully, her father does not press on. 

It’s an old debate and they are tired. Annabeth finishes her meal in silence.

lxiv.

Friday after work, Annabeth sits by the docks next to the East River, chatting with Percy. When the wind loosens one of her curls from her ponytail, he gingerly tucks it back behind her ear.

His eyes lingers for a second before asking her about her gray streak.

“Once, I held up the sky,” she replies.

His eyes are misty. “I wish I were there to help.”

lxv. 

When she heads back to her apartment from a client site three Wednesday nights after, Annabeth routes through Grand Central Station and feels an inexplicable need to look through some of the shops there. 

It is still not advisable for her (or for other demigods) to wander around alone because of Chiron’s warning to be diligent about safety, but it has been a month since the quest and nothing new or alarming has happened since then. 

Annabeth justifies that it is safe enough for a quick detour, though she has not been adhering to the guidelines, anyways.

She looks around and a store called _Sweet on America_ catches her eye. Outside the windows, Annabeth can see that the store is decked out in red, blue, and white. She is also not normally one for sweets, but somehow, Annabeth feels that she just _had to_ buy some. 

In particular, there seems to be a lot of candies colored _blue_ , which makes Annabeth think of Percy. _It’s something that Percy would like given his obsession with blue foods_ , Annabeth reasons with herself as she walks into the store.

A soft melody chimes as she crosses into the door. There is no one by the counter, but a woman with soft, brown curly hair walks out from one of the aisles and greets her. 

“Hi! My name is Sally; how may I help you today?” Sally gives her a warm smile and Annabeth can’t help but beam back at her. 

Sally, the woman greeting her, seems to be in her mid-forties; she is wearing a blue apron with some small fishes embroidered on the pocket. It’s a little strange for an American-themed candy shop, but it suits her. When she smiles, it reaches her brown eyes and makes them crinkle slightly. It’s a mother’s smile.

“Hi, I’m just looking… I have a friend who loves blue food.” Annabeth says, looking at the trays upon trays _upon trays_ of candies.

“You’ve come to just the place,” Sally says, eyes shining, as if sharing a secret between her and Annabeth. “I also love blue food; it reminds me of the sea.”

“Oh, you like the ocean too?” Annabeth asks, trying to make some small conversation as she looks over different candies, taking her time to make a selection. 

“I grew up by the sea side. It’s my childhood,” Sally beams again and Annabeth’s heart swells. “I try to go to Montauk still, whenever I can. It’s sort of a tradition.”

Annabeth wishes she has those with her father.

“That’s sweet,” Annabeth says, feeling happy for the woman. 

“Thank you, dear,” Sally replies, wiping her hands on the apron. “Do you have preference for soft or hard candies? They are on different shelves--”

Just then, the door chimes and a little girl bounded in. She looks to be about seven or eight.

“Mommy!” she exclaims, running towards Sally as her brown ponytail bounces up and down. 

“Stella, what a nice surprise!” Sally kneels down and hugs the child, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Daddy wants us to come and pick you up for dinner,” Stella says. 

“And where is daddy?” Sally’s smile reaches her eyes.

The door opens with another chime, and a man with salt and pepper hair walks in.

“There he is!” Stella jumps up and down around the man. 

“You found him, honey!” Sally says, standing up and crossing the store. 

“Sally, how are you? Ready for dinner?” The man says.

“Soon,” Sally says, gesturing to Annabeth, “this is…”  
“Annabeth,” Annabeth supplies politely. 

“I was just telling her about Montauk.”

The man nods appreciatively.

“Annabeth, this is Paul. And you’ve just met Estelle, our daughter.”

“You have a beautiful family,” Annabeth says with sincerity.

“Thank you,” Sally says. “I appreciate it. And no rush picking out your candies, I need to close the books before leaving anyway. It’ll take a while.”

“Thanks,” Annabeth says, but starts quickly picking up an assortment of blue candies into her plastic bag. She doesn’t want to interrupt this lovely family’s dinner plans. 

Paul kisses Sally in the temple before taking a rag and helping to wipe the counter down. Estelle continues to bound around.

Annabeth wishes that she can have a family like that, some day. 

*

Before Annabeth leaves, she takes one of Sally’s business cards by the counter.

It reads:

Sally Jackson-Blofis

Owner: _Sweet on America_ , Grand Central Station

Author: _Song of Perseus_ , _Calypso_ , and _Seaside_ (coming soon) 

Dreamer: _www.sallyjackson.com_

Annabeth smiles. She hopes to come back to that lovely little shop soon. Sally Jackson-Blofis seems like an incredible woman.

Maybe in another life, Annabeth would be fortunate enough to have someone like Sally as her mother instead of the cold-blooded Athena.

**A/N: I am updating this fic days ahead of schedule because I hope that it brings you some joy; gods know that we need more of that. _I'm still matching donations for BLM, BTW._**

**Also, if you like this story, I hope that you drop a note for me. Every one of them makes my heart soar. I need some of that serotonin right about now. Thank you :)**


	14. devils roll the dice (angels roll their eyes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some stolen moments for annabeth and percy to build their relationship up; things almost feel normal. it's a weird feeling, but it's sort of nice

“Every night, I live and die

Meet somebody, take 'em home

Let's kiss and then take off our clothes

It's just another graceless night”

~ _Perfect Places_ by Lorde

* * *

short notes on chapter 13 - 

  1. their date to paris is a recall to their canonical first-month anniversary date to paris in _the staff of hermes_
  2. in the original series, annabeth's stepmother asked percy to convince annabeth to give her mortal family another chance. since percy wasn't there when annabeth was kidnapped to carry the sky in this fic, she never gave helen / frederick another try. it's sad; i know
  3. sally didn't need to be with gabe to cover percy's scent so she never was. she got time to establish herself as a writer before meeting paul and she runs the candy shop because she likes the idea of it. her book _the song of perseus_ is a reference to my other fic's name, but also, the draw she has to blue food and to the story of perseus is from the feeling that she is missing out on something (someone) important in her life



lxvi. 

Annabeth feels ridiculous when she strikes a match and starts a small fire in her sink breaking _all kinds_ of tenant agreements on her lease. 

She joked about summoning Percy via burnt food when they went on a date at the MET last week, and since he _triple-dog-dared_ her to actually do it, she’s going to carry it through no matter what, _gods damn it_.

It was effective, because there’s a quiet ‘pop’ less than a minute later as the sea god appears in the middle of her living room, bringing in the smell of fresh sea breeze. He casually settles on her couch, propping his legs up to make himself more comfortable. 

Annabeth shakes her head in a quiet laugh. A few dates later and they almost act like a pair of normal mid-twenty-something couple. Sure, some of their dates had been a little more than unorthodox (when she suggested going to the aquarium, Percy hosted a spectacular _underwater_ showing of marine life; when she mentioned that she loved Neuschwanstein Castle’s architecture, he took her there and listened intently as she gushed), but they had the chance to get to know each other better.

“Busy day?” He asks, glancing at the clock. It’s seven o’clock, and she has just gotten home not long before.  
“Not really, I got done early. You?” Annabeth replies. 

“It’s fine. Dealing with some underwater politics. The minor gods of the seven seas always fight for my father’s attention; it is ridiculous. But that’s nothing new, really, so I can afford to split my essence.”

Annabeth nods. She’s used to this by now. It’s nothing bothersome; she can only see copies of Percy unless she wants to burn up. He belongs to a higher dimension plane of existence and she can only see shadows of that reflection.

“We should bake some cookies this weekend,” he suggests, walking curiously to her next to the sink to inspect her handiwork and inconspicuously wrapping an arm around her waist. “That can be fun.”

“I need to buy flour and blue food coloring,” Annabeth spins out of his touch, still a little unsure on how she wants to navigate some of these interactions with Percy. She focuses on doing a mental inventory of her kitchen supplies instead.  
He doesn’t seem to mind and smiles, “I can just--”

“No, it’s okay. I have to go get some other groceries anyway. I’ll pick those up.” Annabeth says, not wanting to admit to him that she doesn’t like to rely on his powers for everything. She likes her independence.

“Hey, that’s cool,” Percy throws his hands up, “just wanted to offer. That sounds great, it’s a date. You know how to find me once you get the supplies.”

Annabeth touches her sand dollar. That’s one of her communication links to Percy. The other being her phone, but years of Camp training taught her to cut down on technology use whenever she can help it.

“And apparently, I found a third way today.” Annabeth teases.

Percy answers by opening his palm. Annaeth puts the bag of candy in his hand, “It’s worth it. These taste fucking delicious. Thank you for burning those offerings to me. I like it.”

“Only because it’s a dare,” Annabeth rolls her eyes as Percy investigates the bag in his hand, “it’s from _Sweets on America_ , this little candy shop in the Grand Central Station,” she explains. “There’s a really lovely woman who’s the owner there, Sally Jackson--”

“Sally Jackson?” Percy asks mid-chew. Annabeth doesn’t even realize that he is paying attention to any of her ramblings.

“Yes, you know her?” Annabeth asks, even though she knows that it is highly improbable.

“Sally Jackson,” Percy repeats the name again, as if he is trying to extract a forgotten flavor.

“Her name is technically Sally Jackson-Blofis,” Annabeth supplies.

Percy ignores her. “Sally Jackson,” he repeats, brows furrowing. “No, I don’t think I know her, but that sounds so familiar. I don’t understand.”

“Maybe because of her last name? Jackson? You introduced yourself as Percy Jackson to me when we first met from the bar.” Annabeth supplies, trying to be helpful.

“Yeah…” Percy says with cloudy eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

lxvii. 

“Once,” he begins, looking at Annabeth intently, “the Fates came upon me in a dream. I was a child, then, hidden in pretense as a mortal by my mother. But in that dream, a woman named Sally Jackson was my mother instead of Thetis. I lived a life in your New York.”

“What else did they show?”

He does not answer.

lxviii.

Percy doesn’t want to elaborate, and Annabeth doesn’t push. She just wonders what a game the Fates are playing, and why. 

For the remainder of the evening, the two curl on Annabeth’s couch, watching the first episodes of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ and munching on the reminder of the candies Annabeth bought. Annabeth supposes that she should consume something other than just sugar for dinner, but she is too lazy to bother.

“So, this Katara, she’s a daughter of a sea god?” Percy asks, pointing at the screen where Katara water bends for the first time.

“No, there are no sea gods in this show, Percy.” Annabeth laughs.

“Okay. But she has water powers.”

“She’s a water bender. There are also other benders in the show for other elements: air, earth, and fire.”

“So Zeus’, Hades’, and Hephaestus’ children are also represented here.” Percy says in a more sarcastic tone as he wiggles his eyebrows at Annabeth. She realizes that he understood the true premise of the show all along.

“You’re impossible.” She laughs at how proud Percy is to have come up with the joke himself. “You just wait. This show is going to make you _feel_ things.”

“The last time I really felt something for a show was watching _Antigone_ in the Globe before we moved our base to the United States.”

 _That was… before the 1860s._ Annabeth calculates. “You’re so fucking old.”

“Ow, that’s rude,” Percy puts a hand dramatically on his chest. “Don’t remind me. Time flows so strangely for me, the past century or two felt like it passed by in the blink of an eye.”

Annabeth itches to ask if this, too, feels like a fleeting moment in his perpetuity, but she doesn’t because she isn’t equipped for the answer. 

Instead, thinking about the limited lives of mortals in comparison to _him_ , she slips, “You should go see Sam and Alyssa sometime.”

He sits up, leaning away from her. “How do you know about them?” Percy’s jaw tightens, surprised. He clenches the fabrics of her (very expensive) couch.

“I designed your cabin at Camp,” Annabeth explains simply. She’s already made peace with that snippet of knowledge; he is a Greek god she’s picked up at the bar, how can she not expect that he has mortal children of his own?

“They are not mine,” Percy says defensively.

“How can you say that? You _claimed_ them.” Annabeth accuses, remembering the symbol of the roaring waves above their heads when they crossed into camp with Apollo (who she heard that _Perseus_ had personally asked for help with escorting the siblings as he could not interfere himself).

“No, they really aren’t; they are Triton’s. Triton doesn’t care, but I wanted them to be happy and have a cabin of their own.”

“They aren’t happy. Just having a cabin of their own, without further recognition, does not make them happy.”

“And what should I do? They’ve been at Camp for six years. I dropped by from time to time; that’s more than they would have otherwise.”

“You need to tell them the truth so they don't resent you. You tell them that you care, as an uncle, and you need to spend more time with them.” Annabeth says with finality. She learned from her own experiences being a half-blood.

“Then they would just resent my brother and be bitter.”

“Don’t you think they deserve to know who their father really is?”

Percy just looks at her sadly.

lxix. 

“This is the fanciest restaurant I have ever been to,” Annabeth says, matter-of-factly. “And I’ve been to _a lot_ of fancy restaurants during recruiting my senior year.”

Percy smiles. “Good thing I’m paying, huh?”

Annabeth glares. “You know I am more than happy to; in fact, I _want_ to pay.”

“But I’m not letting you. There is no reason for you to.” Percy says, daring her to say more. 

He holds her gaze and there is a pause before she sighs. He is right. The only reason for her to insist upon paying is her ego. Gods have unlimited funds. And he already knows that she can handle herself in any function in life.

“Fine,” she says, and he grins before gesturing to the menu.

“Then I expect you to go wild. _Marea’s_ is excellent.”

Shortly, Annabeth feels like she has hijacked into another girl’s life. Some girl who is completely human, some girl whose biggest problem in life is meeting work deadlines and dealing with the possibility of a hostile future mother-in-law. In all her time fighting to survive, Annabeth has never expected such feelings of normalcy and security for herself before. It’s so nice. 

Some casual talks and drinks later, they leave. 

Annabeth is a little drunk, but it’s feeling like a perfect night as she stumbles back into her apartment with the sea god. 

She may be giggling but she doesn’t care; she is feeling delightfully buzzed and there’s something powerful about that. It is a little more than rare for her to voluntarily be so vulnerable; she feels safe.

lxx.

“Don’t leave,” Annabeth mutters into her pillow.

“You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. I should go.” Percy says, pressing a kiss onto her cheek, and standing up from her bed. “Remember there’s water on your night stand, okay?”

“No,” Annabeth says, tugging hard at his blazer. “Fall asleep with me.”

He thinks for a moment. Annabeth wonders if he is thinking of the first time he was on (chained to) her bed, but her mind feels foggy. She wants to giggle at the thought but she is so tired. 

Honestly, Annabeth just wants some company as she drifts to sleep, gods damn it. It is supposed to be an _innocent_ request.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” he says, and she cheers quietly. “I haven’t really slept in a while, anyway.” He justifies to himself, taking off his jacket before gingerly going under her covers on the other side of the bed, as if he is scared of disturbing her. 

“Come closer,” Annabeth mutters, snuggling herself close. His dress shirt is still on. “You smell nice. Just like the ocean.”

“I _am_ a sea god,” he mutters softly. Annabeth isn’t sure if he is reminding her or himself.

“I know,” she says into his shoulder, breathing deeply.

Sleep comes easily that night as Annabeth drifts out of consciousness to the sounds of waves and riptides, thinking about what-ifs.

**A/N: in 10 days, my ffn account turns 10. crazy how long i've been writing about these two idiots falling in love, huh?? i plan to do a lil celebration then so if you guys have any ideas (writing prompts, sketch requests, etc. do let me know!)**

**also, thank you to those of you who have donated! in total, we've raised $588!! ($196 from you guys, $196 from me, and another $196 match from my company) yay!! i'm so proud.**

****

**art by viria for chapter 2 - join[my Discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) for more! **


	15. i love you (when you're singing that song)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he wants to define their relationship but how can they? they are just two foolish kids who have some feelings for each other, except, you know, he's a sea god

“You’ll always be my favorite ghost

You need a big god (big enough to hold your love)

You need a big god (big enough to fill you up)”

~ _Big God_ by Florence and the Machine

**for lafgl!! happy birthday :)**

**also this fic is officially at its halfway point. _What?!_**

* * *

lxxi. 

“You drool when you sleep,” she accuses when he wakes, surprised that he stayed.

“Oh,” he says, embarrassed, then reached to wipe his face. She does so with her sleeve instead.

lxxii.

“I can’t believe you’ve never gone trick-or-treating before,” Annabeth says two weeks later on an evening of the Halloweekend. She adjusts a bed sheet tied around Percy. “And I can’t believe we are going as _greek gods_. You’re cheating.”

“First of all, no one looks like _this_ on Olympus. We don’t use bed sheets,” he says with obvious disdain. “Secondly, if I were cheating, then you most definitely are, too. You _are_ a goddess.” His tone changes to one of reverence.

“Who taught you how to flirt?” Annabeth says, laughing at the indignant look on Percy’s face. She kisses him by the corner of his mouth, where his lips curve with his pout. “Don’t be mad, I’m just teasing.”

*

“Annabeth, how are you? I haven’t seen you since the spring!” Cameron, Annabeth’s roommate from her senior year, greets when she opens the door to her house in Stamford, letting the two in. “You brought a plus one!”

“This is Percy, he’s my…” Annabeth hesitates. _Who_ is he to her? “Friend. He’s a good friend.”

“Percy Jackson,” Percy says, “nice to meet you.” Annabeth appreciates his cooperativeness.

If there is any skepticism, Cameron doesn’t show it. Instead, she smiles brightly. Annabeth is grateful she has at least one mortal friend who seems genuinely happy for her no matter what. It’s just too bad that they both work such demanding schedules that it’s difficult to meet up regularly. 

“Well, Annabeth, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Welcome, Percy!” Cameron says, before the doorbell rings again and she walks away to greet other newcomers. 

When Annabeth turns, she meets a pair of troubled sea green eyes.

“Do you have any expectations for us to label our relationship?” Percy asks, frowning. 

“Not really, and I’m not sure if this is the best place or time to discuss that.” Annabeth replies, smiling tightly at a few alums passing by whom she recognizes.

He doesn’t push her for more verbally, but he stares at her more intensely than before: so much so that the skin on the back of Annabeth’s neck starts to tingle. Percy’s supernatural displeasure is made glaringly obvious to her, intentionally or not.

Annabeth really, _really_ doesn’t like where this is going. 

“I don’t know, Percy. You know that things are difficult. You’re a god and I’m a mortal.” She sighs.

“Why does that have to be such a big barrier?”

Annabeth doesn’t know where to begin. A couple months of this back and forth play pretend later, she still isn’t ready for a conversation to discuss their future (if there is one). She likes to plan, but there isn’t a blueprint for this. 

It’s simple, really: gods are unfaithful creatures and Annabeth wants something permanent for herself. She wants someone who one day will wait for her (or she will wait for) in Elysium when she can finally rest; _that_ is her version of a happily ever after. She can’t have that with a _god_.

But how can she articulate something like that to a god who is her boyfriend in everything but in name? It is _not_ possible.

Percy searches her eyes, as if he is looking for some sort of understanding of her thoughts. His shoulders fall as he lets out a small “oh.”

“You didn’t read my mind, did you?” she vocalizes the concern.

“No, but I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want eternity. I know that you turned down Zeus’ gift a few years ago, but you never told me why.”

Annabeth doesn’t say anything in response.

lxxiii. 

The rest of the night sours. 

“Look,” she starts. “You clearly don’t want to be here. So leave. I’ll head back to my apartment by myself later.” She fakes a grin at another college friend who passed by, asking if she is okay. 

Percy scowls. “Who is that?”

“That’s Charlie.”

“Who’s Charlie?” He asks, as the drink in Charlie’s hands spills over, all by itself.

“Percy,” she says slowly, trying to not be overly frustrated with the god. She gives up on discreteness and drags him to the balcony to talk so that others can’t hear, “stop being so rash--”

“--I am not _rash_.” He spits out that word as if it is made of poison. 

“Can we please talk about this later?” she asks again. “I’d like to explain more of what I am thinking, and it would be great if you don’t just jump to premature, unwarranted conclusions.”  
“I heard the message loud and clear. You practically just rejected me,” he says hotly. 

Annabeth sighs. She wants to say that he is reading too much into something she didn’t even say, but she was thoroughly annoyed by this point. “Well, I’m _sorry_ that you aren’t used to mortals telling you ‘no,’” she says.

His eyes flashes bright for a moment before he closes them, taking a deep breath. Annabeth braces herself; if he teleports them somewhere else to _talk_ when she clearly does not want to, she would be very angry.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” he explains when he is calmer.

“That’s not a concern you should be having at this stage,” Annabeth replies curtly. 

“Is that it?” He asks. “Do you want me to ask you if you can be my girlfriend? Because I would ask, right now.”

Annabeth feels frustrated; she doesn’t know what she wants, but she _can’t_ be pressured into a relationship with a sea god just because his feelings are hurt.

“No. I don’t,” Annabeth says and his face falls. “I just need some time, okay?”

Annabeth sees his jaw tighten before he makes a low growl of pure annoyance before he blinks out of existence.

Annabeth sighs, taking a quick look around her; it doesn’t seem like anyone noticed. She rolls her eyes: it’s a long train ride from Stamford, Connecticut to her apartment in Manhattan and she is not looking forward to that trek later in the night. 

This isn’t the first time she’s fought with Percy (they’ve had a _very_ heated debate on whether all cyclopses are evil or not, before Percy finally told her that Tyson is one), but this is certainly the worst fight. 

Annabeth shakes her head tiredly and heads back into the party for some more punch. 

She’ll enjoy the night and think about this tomorrow. Maybe she can carpool back with one of her former classmates back into the city or stay at Cameron’s overnight. 

It’s just strange what diverse kinds of problems like to present themselves in her life sometimes.

lxxiv.

A shattering sound wakes Annabeth the next morning, and she groans in annoyance before she snaps into attention. 

Quietly, she picks up her dagger from her bed stand and slides off her bed, tiptoeing gingerly across her bedroom to the door. 

Interestingly, her heightened senses alerts her to the smell of _pancakes_ , of all things. The scent wafts into her room from the kitchen, and her brows knit in confusion. 

Annabeth stalks into her living room, dagger raised, but she feels rather silly once she sees who is there.

She has been expecting an intruder (and an untimely one from that, because her head still pounds a little from all the drinking last night), but instead, she sees the sea god attempting to make breakfast in the kitchen. 

When he sees her, he blushes, looks away, and grimaces at the pieces of the broken plate on the floor.

“I’ll fix it, I swear,” Percy says. “Sorry,” he adds quickly.

Annabeth scowls. “I didn’t invite you in,” she tries to not sound hostile, but she is still annoyed at him. Annabeth wanted to integrate him into the _mortal_ part of her life, but it hadn’t been too successful. She doesn’t like what that tells her in terms of their relationship. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes again, still staring at the floor.

The plate snaps itself back to one piece under his gaze. It lies there innocently.

The anger bleeds out of Annabeth. She doesn’t quite have the strength (or ability) to stay angry at him when he is just trying to make her breakfast.

“It’s okay; I didn’t mean to snap at you,” she finally relents, surprising herself in the process. She is usually more stubborn than this. “Thanks for making breakfast,” she adds.

“Yeah,” he bites his lip, “I hope that you don’t mind that the pancakes are all blue.”

“Blue pancakes? That’d be a first.” Annabeth quips. Blue food is such an interesting quirk of Percy. 

“Yeah,” he says again, running his hand through his hair nervously, cheeks still flushed gold. Annabeth tilts her head in slight confusion; Percy only does that when he is embarrassed. _Why would he be embarrassed?_ Annabeth looks down, feeling a little bit of deja vu. ... _Oh._

In a hurry to fend off her apartment from the “intruder,” she ran out of her bedroom in just a loose tee and her underwear.

No wonder the god is all flustered. How adorable.

Instead of being embarrassed herself, Annabeth smirks at him instead. “You can’t handle this?” she challenges, and his cheeks glow. She decides to stop teasing him, “fine, let me change first, and then we’ll see if you’re as good at making pancakes as you were at baking cupcakes.”

He wouldn’t look at her in the eye, but he says, “it’s a deal.”

lxxv.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” Annabeth decides to extend an olive branch after she is fed and hydrated.

They both know what _it_ is.

“No,” Percy shakes his head, “it’s okay. I think I understand.” He adds after a beat, “unless you want to talk about that now, I guess.”

Annabeth considers before asking impulsively, “why did you break up with Calypso?” She kicks herself immediately after the question leaves her mouth, but she didn’t forget the way that Percy looked at Calypso. 

Percy nearly falls from his stool and uses the counter to steady himself. Annabeth eyes their empty plates nervously, hoping that Percy doesn’t break another one. 

His reactions make sense: Annabeth supposes that he has no expectations for her to know about Calypso, much less asking about the Titaness. She wonders if he knows anything about her and Calypso: _probably not_.

In any case, Annabeth wants to understand more about Percy’s past and what kinds of expectations he may have for a relationship. She doesn’t have a lot of experience in this area, but she figures that they are at the stage where questions like this are no longer off limits. 

“Things just didn’t work out.” He decides after a minute.

“What do you mean?” 

He looks irked. She isn’t sure if she wants to push further.

Surprisingly, he answers. “Calypso is a good friend, but she’s… not _interesting_. Besides, her father is Atlas. She betrayed the gods. I didn’t like that. My father and my uncle didn’t like it--”

“--Is that all?” Annabeth asks, “my mother is Athena, you know. Your father probably won’t be a big fan of this. Your brother, Triton, isn’t.”

“I _am_ the god of loyalty; I don’t take betrayals lightly,” he says, barely letting her finish. “Plus, you are different. _This_ is different.”

Annabeth isn’t sure how she is. She raises a brow in skepticism. He leans in for a kiss but she turns her head away. 

“I picked you up at the bar nearly eight months ago, in March,” she says. “You probably met a number of mortals that way.” He doesn’t deny it. “So why me? You are a god, you can have anyone in the world. It’s easy for you to just have some fun.”

“But that’s it, Annabeth, I don’t just want anyone. And it’s obvious what we have isn’t just ‘fun’ by this point. I like you. I _want_ you. I just don’t really know how to navigate all these emotions you are giving me, because they are all just so _human._ ”

Annabeth scoffs, not fully believing in what the sea god is telling her. Why would anyone want her? She’s really just a burden.

But he pushes on, the light in his eyes shining brighter.

“Admittedly, it was mostly intrigue at first, but when we first started talking, _really_ talking, on that walk back here, and then on Olympus… I realized that I have never met anyone like you. You _saved_ the world twice, yet you have no sense of entitlement for anything.” He says, before chuckling in awe and amazement, putting a hand gently below her chin and tilting her head slightly upwards so that he can directly look into her eyes. 

“Look, I didn’t understand at first -- why you aren’t scared of what I am, and why you’re so gods damned stubborn. But I love that: I love that you fight for things and you don’t just settle.” He confesses earnestly, “And you know what? Everytime I see you I feel like I’m coming home; we’ve known each other for some months now and even though that’s less than a blink of the eye for me but it _feels_ like eons.” He finally stops, eyes looking like they are begging for her to see herself and her value from his point of view.

His hand is warm by her face, and Annabeth places her palm on his before bringing his hand down with hers. He feels so human and vulnerable.

“I appreciate it, Percy, I really do,” she says, finally, after a heavy second. “Thank you. But, here’s the thing: if my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself. I turned down the offer because I _can’t_ be limited by the bounds of immortality and godhood. I like having the ability to make choices for myself, and to have that individual agency. Do you understand that?”

He hesitates before nodding, more in denial than in defeat. After all, how can a sea god, whose very existence is tangential on him obeying the mandates of the king of the gods for the rest of eternity, understand? He doesn’t really have a grasp on free will, but Annabeth appreciates the efforts.

With her free hand, she strokes his hair, softly. He looks crestfallen but he doesn’t push any further out of respect for her wishes. She pulls him into an embrace. 

“Can we just be happy and satisfied with what we have, for now?” she asks. “If I am not rushing, why should you? You have all the time in the world.”

He nods wordlessly in her arms. The boy looks like he has some more thoughts to vocalize, but he swallows them. Percy closes his eyes, as if he is in pain.

**A/N: This chapter was so difficult to write! It's not explored enough in the fic, but Annabeth is so adamantly against godhood because she's seen what it did to Hercules, and she doesn't want to become _that_. She also thinks that if she backtracks on her decision, she'd be the gods' laughing stock for eternity.**

**Anyway, there's a big possibility for me to bump the fic up to a M rating going forward, so speak now or forever hold your peace. I believe that's something a lot of y'all are looking forward to, _huh~_**


	16. the altar is my hips (even if it's a false god)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is it just me or are things getting hot and steamy in here?

Take me to church

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

Offer me my deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life

~ _Take Me to Church_ by Hozier

* * *

lxxvi.

When Percy and Annabeth walk through the door, the air is cold. 

It is, however, a relatively warm day for mid-November and they are taking a short walk to Central Park to admire the fall foliage. When the wind blows, the orange leaves drift down and Annabeth looks on with appreciation. 

She can’t tell what Percy is thinking, but he pulls her close and plants a kiss in her hair. Annabeth knows that they look every part like a proper couple, though they are still “just dating.” She is grateful that Percy hasn’t tried to broach the topic again since two weeks ago. 

It’s happiness for the time being, and isn’t that enough? Why must they think about going somewhere where the other cannot follow someday, when happiness is right in front of them?  
“What are you thinking?” Annabeth asks, seeing a kid chase her dog with mild interest. 

“Percy?” He is staring at the duo as well. 

“Buggers, what a good boy,” he whispers before seeing the concerned look she is giving him and saying, “what?”

“I was just asking what’s on your mind. Something seems to be weighing you down.”

“The dog, Buggers… So loyal…” 

Annabeth shakes her head with a smile; sometimes Percy gets distracted by dogs because he is their patron god. Something about dogs being the most loyal animal to man. “I didn’t mean that, Percy. I was referring to what you were thinking a little bit ago.”

“Ah,” he says, kicking and crunching a few leaves on the street before looking up and answering, “I was just thinking about my brother.”

“Tyson?”

“No,” he doesn’t elaborate.

“Triton?” Annabeth pushes.

“No, though I did heed your advice.”

“For Sam and Alyssa?”

“Yeah,” he says, biting his lip.

“How did they take it?”

“Alyssa is shaken, but she’s appreciative. Though, Sam is bitter, as you can imagine.” _Sam is always the bitter one_ , Annabeth thinks; if he came to camp any sooner, he might have joined Luke’s cause. But Annabeth shelves this thought for later, she’s more curious as to why Percy’s mind is so far away a moment ago. 

“So, who were you thinking about?” Annabeth asks, adding, “if you don’t mind telling me, of course. I just haven’t seen you with that look in your eye before.”

“It’s been a while,” Percy says softly, “I am just thinking of my older brother, Achilles. When I was a child, I promised him that one day we’ll take a hike together, along with Patroclus, to see the foliage up north in Thessaloniki. We just never quite made it. I wish that he could see this.”

Annabeth’s heart breaks at his sadness and she doesn’t tell him that she, just a few years ago, met Achilles by the bank of the Styx. Back then, she was sixteen. That Annabeth was too headstrong and stubborn to take Achilles’ advice to _not_ take on the curse.

It’s caused the hero everything in the end.

But for Annabeth, that curse didn’t last long, anyway. When her little family dissolved, so did her invulnerability. Having her tether to mortality broken once only made her want to grasp on it more. 

The two weeks she had that invulnerability, it made her arrogant, thinking that she is greater than all demigods combined, thinking that she can be even greater than the gods. Thalia had told her that she’s changed, but she didn’t listen until a dangerous moment in the Battle of Manhattan when her hubris made her break Daedelous’ laptop after a camper questioned her leadership. 

Luckily, she still remembered the code to activate the automatons; otherwise, her friends would have to pay for her arrogance in lives.

Who knows what other information she lost that day, and how she has come to pay for it since? Annabeth prefers to dwell on that too much.

The only thing Annabeth knows after the Second Titan War is that she should be afraid of what she may become without her humanity. She harbors a monster within her, after all.

lxxvii.

“I wasn’t supposed to be born, you see,” Percy says, plucking a blade of grass on his side as the two rest against a tree, in between all the golden leaves. 

Annabeth laughs, “none of us was. None of us in this world, anyway.” She gestures between her and Percy. 

“But Uncle wanted me gone right when I was born.” Annabeth understands that he is referring to Zeus.

“Because of the prophecy that says that children of Thetis will become more powerful than their father,” Annabeth states.

“Yes, and my father is second in power only to my uncle. As you can imagine, that leaves an extraordinarily bad taste in his mouth. He felt betrayed by his brother.” Annabeth watches as Percy’s fingers squish the blades of grass together until they are painted green. 

She nods. She’s known all of this from reading what she could about _Perseus the sea god_ shortly after meeting him. Beyond his parentage, and the occasional tsunamis he’s triggered, however, he remains a mystery in the texts. 

“Not that I am ungrateful that he’s spared you,” Annabeth asks, stretching a hand to take his for comfort, “but how did you manage to escape the wrath of the king of the gods?”

“It was just good timing, really,” Percy shakes his head. “My mother managed to disguise me as a mortal until a few years passed the end of the Trojan War -- long after Achilles’ death… And at that point, gods were not eager to engage in another war. Beliefs were shaken enough; another war would further deplete men, shaking the foundations of our seats of power. _He_ didn’t want to risk that. No harm came to me because of that. But my mother, well, she is sternly forbidden to have any more children. I am her only child, now.”

“That makes sense,” Annabeth offers, thinking. She remembers that Thetis and Poseidon were both on the Greeks’ side, while Zeus was on the Trojan’s three thousand and six hundred years ago. 

She wonders what the world was like then. She can’t even imagine being alive for five percent of that. 

Percy offers her a wry smile. “There were other conditions -- I had to be made my father’s lieutenant and he was appointed to bear responsibility for all my actions, if I were to live. I have to become the god of loyalty, swearing eternal allegiance to the Olympians. If there is a threat to the integrity of Olympus, I am to defend it. I do not have a choice nor will I ever,” he says, green eyes lazily following a frisbee two teenagers are tossing around. “Not that I had minded, of course,” he adds as an almost afterthought. 

“I didn’t see you in the Second Titan War,” Annabeth observes. She also wonders if Poseidon fought for him to live millennia ago, along with Thetis. She wonders if he sees Percy as a tool, a hindrance, or both.

Or maybe Poseidon really loves his son. There is no telling, from Annabeth’s point of view. She doesn’t know what love gods may hold for their children. All she is used to is indifference from the cold Athena.

Percy sighs next to her, looking at the skies and then turning to stare at her, “it was a war on wavering loyalties for the gods, and for the demigods -- to the twelve major Olympians, or to the Titans. My essence was split, even though I was fighting on the Olympians’ side. Not too long into the war, Zeus asked me to step out.”

“And if you didn’t, what would have happened?”

“Dangerous questions, daughter of Athena,” he says, and she was briefly reminded of the moment they shared next to the garden on Olympus. Then, for a second, he grins at her in a way that makes her shiver. 

But it passes quickly, and they are just another couple enjoying the afternoon Sun in the park. 

lxxviii.

 _How’s med school?_ \- Annabeth

 _Busy. Sorry that I wasn’t able to come visit recently. It’s been almost three months? I know I’m a terrible friend._ \- Will

 _You stole my line._ \- Annabeth

 _Stop being so hard on yourself._ \- Will

 _Sometimes I just get so bitter. Jealous, too._ \- Annabeth

 _… What are you referring to?_ \- Will

 _Nothing. Dw about it. Idk why I’m feeling this way all of a sudden._ \- Annabeth

 _Um, ok._ \- Will

 _But if you want to talk, I’m here. These feelings are not your fault._ \- Will

A pause. 

Annabeth knows what Will is referring to: she was not loved as a child, and as a result, she can get pretty territorial when it comes to her friends. When it comes to _Percy_. 

A few times now, she thinks about how she brought up Calypso during their fight a few weeks ago and she cringes. She’s meant to see a therapist for this, but dissecting her past is something that she still feels immensely unready to do.

 _I know. Thanks, Will._ \- Annabeth

 _Anytime._ \- Will

 _BTW, don’t think that I forgot about Perseus. I still don’t think that he’s a good idea._ \- Will

Annabeth doesn’t reply this time.

lxxix. *****mature content in this section**

When she comes back from her mortal family’s residence on the Sunday afternoon after Thanksgiving, he’s already waiting for her in her apartment.

She had officially given him permission to pop in and out as he wishes a week and some ago. She doesn’t know if it was out of spite and stubbornness (for the doubts that Will and Grover and everyone else have on whether or not she can sustainably date Percy in all of his oh-so-dangerous godly glory), or if it’s just because that is easier than the alternative of summoning him. He’s over all the time these days, anyway.

For a second, his eyes don’t leave the oven, where a dozen cookies sit. Annabeth utilizes that chance to admire how gorgeous the sea god looks under the golden rays of the setting sun, spilling over her apartment’s glass windows. 

Percy looks every bit of the divinity that he is, even in his very human form.

Annabeth’s mind flashes to the princely and bare chested version she saw in Atlantis, and her cheeks flush. Blushing, she muses on how much desire she has for him. They haven’t seen each other in five days, and that felt long to her.

When he spares a glance at her, she holds her breath. What a _blessing_ it is, to hold the god’s attention. His eyes are soft lapping waves that threaten to drown her when she looks into them for too long. 

Then, Annabeth notices the little bits of flour on his cheek; that, and the tender emotion his face holds for her. They humanize him. The smell of the cookies and the warmth of the oven also make her apartment a lot homier than it otherwise has the potential or the right to be. 

“Welcome back,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve missed you.”

She wants to say, _me, too_ , but the words are lost before they are vocalized. “I want you,” she says instead, enunciating each syllable clearly. It feels good to actualize these words.

Annabeth bites her lip, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

“Oh?” He says, not understanding.

She doesn’t answer, but she takes a peek in the oven (the cookies are nearly done, anyway), turns it off, and closes the distance between her lips and the god’s. Annabeth snakes a hand under his shirt, feeling his muscles’ warmth underneath her palms. She traces a finger down from his chest, to the skin just under his belly button, hooking her finger on his pants and pulling lightly.

“Oh,” Percy understands and his eyes light instantly with desire, “me too.” 

He gently places a hand under her chin, tilts her head, and kisses her with soft lips. She grips his hair tightly in response, pushing his head closer to hers, and they kiss each other hungrily. It is different from the tender butterfly kisses they had shared before. There is a kind of need that calls for urgency that cannot be ignored.

Moving to her bedroom, on her _bed_ , Percy’s hand slips under her shirt to run his hands reverently past her body but she races to take off his shirt, first. They are always competitive with each other. His back against her headboard, Percy guides her to sit on his thighs.

Annabeth complies, sandwiching the sea god with her knees as she cups his face in her hands, kissing him forcefully again, and again, and again. She has waited many months for this, ever since she determined that she would allow herself some fun with him.

He doesn’t wait to take off her top; instead, his hand snakes under her bra and pushes it up, ducking underneath her shirt to suck on one of her nipples.

Annabeth gasps, feeling warmth pooling in her. His breath is hot against her sensitive skin. She has been touch starved for so long, his mouth and his hands almost feel too much already.

To engage him, she moves and grinds her arousal against the god’s crotch, feeling satisfaction as she feels the beginning of his erection. She smirks briefly at the moan she’s managed to elicit from him, against her chest, before he recovers enough to suck on her other nipple. Then, it’s her turn to sigh in pleasure. 

She grounds herself against him again. 

Percy responds by unbuttoning her jeans and stripping it off of her, gracefully. Once her pants are on the floor, he impatiently pushes her underwear aside to touch her. He looks up for approval. 

She nods and he slips a finger in.

She moans and moves to sink his finger deeper.

He draws his finger away to tease her instead, and she groans in disapproval. 

“You’re so pretty when you’re annoyed,” he says to her, taking a pause and licking his lips. 

“Oh, shut up. You know what I want.”

“Do I?” he says, raising an eyebrow. 

Frustrated, Annabeth makes a move to touch herself, but he stops her and holds her wrist, shaking his head.

“Lay down,” he uses his godly voice to command her.

Annabeth compiles with a shiver. 

When she sneaks a peek at him, wanting to say that it isn’t fair that his lower half is still entirely clothed, he has already buried himself in her thighs, pulling her underwear aside as he tastes her.

He looks up, grinning like a devil.

*

Annabeth feels self conscious about her scars. One across her chest, on the top of her right breast, and a deep, jagged one across her back. A permanent reminder of her time from Tartarus.

It is as if he can feel her insecurity and hesitancy. He stops to slowly pepper her back with kisses. He caresses her with his lips, rising from the middle of her back to her ear, trailing his path with gentle touches.

“You are beautiful,” he says sincerely.

The sensitive skin around her skin pickles with pleasure. She closes her eyes and enjoys the feeling of him in her. 

“Thank you,” she replies.

He kisses the back of her neck again, before squeezing her hands and continuing slowly, sensually. 

She feels his long strokes going in and out, filling her with satisfaction. 

His warm, tan skin against her smells of the ocean, and when he takes one of his hands from her grasp to rub skillfully against her until she comes, Annabeth feels nothing but ecstasy.

lxxx.

They lay together in an afterglow.

“I…” he mutters something softly, but Annabeth can’t hear him.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just thinking of how wonderful you are.” He replies, staring at her ceiling. They can hear the occasional honk outside of her window; they are in the middle of Manhattan, after all. However, the curtains are drawn, and the darkness is blissful. 

“You are wonderful, too.” Annabeth says, tracing some invisible pattern, forming constellations in her mind with the lines she’s drawn in the air. She turns and looks at him: the god’s eyes are sparkling emeralds, a startling green in the dark. 

His cheeks are still flushed gold and the hand she is holding feels gentle and warm. He _is_ the definition of beauty. Annabeth would never say it, but Aphrodite should be jealous. 

In response, he gently untangles his hand from hers, and he stretches his arm to pull her close. She snuggles against him, breathing in the ocean. The calm she feels mirror a time when she walked by the beach at Camp, the moon shining high above. She is drinking in the gentle riptide that is he.

It’s a fleeting second of content that stretches into eternity, but Annabeth knows better than to lean too much into that false pretense. 

_Name one happy hero_ , she thinks. It has been long established that there isn’t a happily ever after for heroes. _Not really._ So she shouldn’t be expecting one for herself.

But she wants it to be a good ending. 

She _needs_ it to be.

**A/N: Look, I read _The Song of Achilles_ and I just have a lot of feelings, okay? **


	17. i feel your whisper (across the sea)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honestly, just admit that you're in love with each other already

“I was thinking maybe you should come with me (Come with me)

You just play your song and I'll accompany (Company)

Always knew the greatest things in life are free

So I invested my money in your company”

~ _Your Soul_ by Forrest.

* * *

lxxxi. 

Annabeth starts to adore mornings because she gets to enjoy feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers in bed.

His presence feels really, really good. 

She doesn’t let herself think that this isn’t permanent. If she could, she would put this time in a bottle.

Instead, she watches the sunlight with amusement, seeing it filter through the curtains and dance on his tan skin. Annabeth stays for another moment before gingerly lifting the blanket covers and stepping out of her comfortable bed. 

Annabeth sifts through her closet for a warm undershirt and a matching sweater to put on, before stepping into a pair of jeans and putting on some wool socks. 

It’s nearing mid-December, and the weather has been relatively mild this year. Maybe they can enjoy another walk in Central Park, or maybe they can visit some museums up by Columbia. 

She finds herself caring less on what they do, just that they spend the time together. 

Annabeth looks to pick out a pair of owl earrings (she has many of those) when she feels a strong pair of arms snakes around her waist, pulling her back, slightly.

She breathes in; Percy smells like an ocean breeze, as he usually does.

Instead of turning back, she meets his gaze by looking into the mirror right in front of her.

“You didn’t even wake me up,” he pouts.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you,” she says back with a smile, admiring how he looks with bare chested, with just a pair of sweatpants on. What used to be a rare treat for her back in summer becomes a constant in her life, now.

“Hmm,” he hums in appreciation, not even bothering to bite back with the usual defensive response of how he ‘doesn’t really need sleep, anyway.’

“Well, do you want to get dressed? We can go grab brunch.” Annabeth suggests, moving to go to brush her teeth in the bathroom.

He doesn’t let her go.

“What is it, Seaweed Brain?” She asks, confused. 

“Wait, I just want to drink this moment in,” he says, putting his head on her right shoulder, looking at her in the mirror. “I like how we look.”

Annabeth has to admit that the couple that look back at them from the mirror seems perfect.

“Me too,” she replies, committing this feeling to her memory.

lxxxii.

Sometimes at night, they dance in the refrigerator light and they talk. Deeper, more _meaningful_ things now that they are more intimate and familiar with each other. 

Annabeth tells him more about her childhood, of Halcyon Green, on why she used to so unilaterally hated Cyclopses, of her time in college and the friends she missed, and how she tends to push everyone away, now. 

Percy tells her about the intricate politics of the seven seas and of Olympus, about some of his mortal children from long ago, what his favorite places are on Earth, and how he always felt like a weapon the Olympians don’t quite know what to do with. 

It’s good rapport. 

Once, they calculate her age against his. Twenty four against three thousand six hundred and… _something_. Her five months is his one day. They’ve known each other for nine months now, so that barely registers as under two days for him, on a scale that Annabeth cannot intrinsically comprehend. That humbles her.

Another time, he gets a headache and nearly loses control over his powers again. When she teases him, he looks at her annoyed, sarcastically thanking her for her faith. He tells her that _no_ , he doesn’t suffer that particular affliction often, or the world would have been long destroyed. It’s just _chance_ that it is acting up, probably.

And so their conversations continue as such because it’s the new normal for the both of them. 

She won’t admit it, but Annabeth likes it, more than just a little _._ _She can get used to this._

lxxxiii.

“Did you see that?” Annabeth asks, turning her head back to Percy. Across the road, she thinks she sees a person with _two_ heads, facing different directions from one another. 

_It can’t be._ She hasn’t seen that god in years.

He huffs when he catches up to her, “I can’t walk as fast when I’m holding so many grocery bags! You have to walk slower. How are you managing with yours?”

Normally, Annabeth would tease him, but she turns back to try to catch a glimpse of Janus again.

The traffic light had already changed at the crossroads. When she blinks at the cars and their shadows, any image of the deity has already been long gone. 

She’s just surprised that Percy never notices.

lxxxiv.

“Thanks for coming to the holiday party with me,” Annabeth whispers as the two enters the Empire State Building. 

It’s a cold Saturday night towards the end of December; even though the walk from her apartment over is short, Annabeth is still glad to get some relief from the warmth indoors. She was too stubborn to ask Percy to make it less cold for her with his godly magic on the way.

As she walks by, Annabeth shakes her head subtly at the man, Bill, sitting behind the counter. He looks at her with a curious look. 

_Mortal business tonight._ She tries to convey with a look.

 _With that one?_ He raises an amused eyebrow at the god whose arm she’s linked to. Bill is a clear-sighted mortal (the whole security team at the Empire State Building is), and he can tell what Percy truly is.

Annabeth tries to not blush. 

If Percy notices the interaction, he makes no comments. Instead, once they are in front of the elevators, he looks at her and says formally, “it’s my pleasure. You’re looking so beautiful tonight.”

Annabeth actually blushes this time. 

The elevator stops at the seventieth floor, where the venue for her firm’s annual party is on. 

It’s strange that she doesn’t have to wait more than a few minutes to get to her destination in this elevator; it’s the very same one that takes her up to the six-hundredth floor --- all the way up to Olympus at least two or three times a week in the past year.

*

The party is what she expects; it is the same as last year’s: there are grandeur decorations, and the sign of her firm, _Pallas &Co. _, hangs everywhere. 

Men and women are dressed to the nines, sitting champagne and enjoying hor d'oeuvres while making small talk. It is one of the most formal events that she has ever been to, but still pales in comparison to what a Winter Solstice gathering would look like on Olympus. Speaking of which, she turns and asks Percy, “you’re busy on the twenty-first, right?”

“For the Solstice meeting? Yes; it requires the attention of my entire essence. Are you coming?”

Annabeth shakes her head. “There’s no need and no place for me to attend. Plus, I promised my dad I’d spend this winter break at home, with the whole family.” _Her dad, Helen, Matthew, and Bobby._

She hasn’t gone home for the entirety of a winter break since her sophomore year of college, but Annabeth told herself she would try. She tells herself that every year, but this year she really ought to make an effort to because her mortal family just moved to the East Coast. There are not many excuses to fall back onto anymore.

“Ah, okay. So you’re busy until the early next year?”

“Mhm, it seems worse when you put it that way,” she says, “mind if you give me a lift to the other side of the city before you leave on the twenty first?”

“You’re so lazy, you never even bother with the subway anymore,” he teases with a smile, and Annabeth resists the urge to kiss the corner of his mouth, aware that some of her coworkers’ eyes are on them.

For a second, she feels so much hubris and arrogance, and she wants nothing but to rub this into Becky Bobofit’s face. Annabeth has convinced _a god_ (a particular powerful one, at that) to come to a human function with _her_ ; how many mortals can accomplish such an achievement? She feels so invincible.

But then she remembers her fatal flaw, and pushes the thought of _showing off_ down, deep within her so she doesn’t have to deal with its ugly, ugly head.

“I just wanted to spend more time with you,” she explains.

“Uh huh, I’m sure that’s why,” he says, shaking his head, “so I’m sure that you won’t object to clearing New Year’s Eve for me?”

“I’m spending that day at home.”

“I’m sure Matthew and Bobby have plans with their friends, already. It’s just another day, I don’t think your dad would object to you spending that with a friend.”

 _A friend_. They’ve been careful to not cross that line with the labels.

“And what does this friend have in mind?”

“I’m going to take you to every single time zone for New Years, and you’re going to have to give me twenty four New Year kisses.” He says, half serious, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time.

She bursts out laughing but quiets quickly, trying to not make a scene.

“Twenty four New Year kisses? That sounds exhausting, doesn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer but his eyes twinkle. It feels a promise.

lxxxv. 

Before she even opens her eyes, Annabeth knows something is terribly, terribly wrong. 

She can taste the cold condensation in the air, smell the sour antiseptic lingering in the air, and feel the hard, steely surface she is laying on. 

A terrible migraine pounds against her skull, and Annabeth struggles to open her eyes. She tries to rub her eyes, but her arm feels heavy. It seems like something metallic is fitted snug around her wrist, too. 

Once her vision clears, her fear is confirmed.

She is not in her apartment in New York anymore. Someone has taken her away.

**A/N: i** **published a 15k word percabeth fic called[ _tabula rasa_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003897), it's a camp swap au with a roman percy > you guys voted on this idea a while back!**

****

**annabeth and calypso before they set on their quest (artist: joleanart on tumblr, commissioner: me)**


	18. baby doll i recognize (you're a hideous thing inside)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what the definition of a hero, and the definition of a monster, anyway?

“Icarus is flying too close to the sun

And Icarus's life, it has only just begun

This is how it feels to take a fall

Icarus is flying towards an early grave”

~ _Icarus_ by Bastille

* * *

**a/n: thank you for your support, it's meant the world to me. really.**

**[ylml playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=jVzjAWcxQQmvUPipsngIEw) |[ discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) (we have 74 members!) | [blog](https://officialpjo.tumblr.com/tagged/ylml)**

lxxxvi.

It is not like Annabeth has never been kidnapped before. 

In fact, this happened a few times to her already. 

Once, a manticore took her away under Luke’s orders, so he could trap her under the sky. 

Another time, Hera decided that the perfect plan was to make her _sleep_ for months before erasing almost all of her memory and putting her in the other Camp. The Romans always assumed that she was weak, being a daughter of Minerva, but she showed them to never underestimate her. Gaining Reyna’s and Lupa’s begrudging respect had not been easy.

And then there’s _this_. 

Annabeth tries her best to shrug off the soreness in her neck, but it lingers. 

Sitting up, she realizes that she is dressed in some white linens. The ensemble includes a loose top and some large pants, and it reminds her of hospital gowns for how free-flowing everything is. Either way, it is most definitely _not_ what she had worn to bed the night before. 

She sighs. 

Whoever decided to take her wait for the one night that her godly boyfriend is occupied. They know something about her and who she is, then. 

What’s more concerning is that when she tries to pray, there is no answer. Annabeth doesn’t expect a reply from her mother, but she does from Percy.

The sand dollar she always keeps around her neck is gone, but she knows that it is more of a symbol these days than an actual communications device. She only has to think of the riptides to call upon the sea god, and he replies, _always,_ without fail. 

Except now.

 _Perseus._ She tries again with his full name.

No answer.

 _Iulius._ She tries with his Roman’s form’s name.

Silence.

Maybe he is still busy with the Solstice meeting and celebrations, but it still makes no sense that he won’t at least try to answer her.

With a sigh, Annabeth surveys her surroundings.

She is in a cell, that’s not of any doubt. The metal bars in front of the little sliver of window at the corner of the room is a tell-tale sign. There is a hint of the night outside, but it is difficult to see through the fog. 

The room itself is bathed in blinding white fluorescent lights, and the smell of strong, soury, _acidic_ antiseptics lingering in the air continues to burn her nostrils. 

Her world only spins a little when Annabeth sits up, and when she slips off of the steel lab table (where there is a measly pillow -- one identical to what she would lay on during annual pap smears at the clinic), Annabeth is glad that she found no restraints on her hands or feet.

No restraints, save for the metallic wristband that beeps a steady green light. The light reflects weakly off of her skin.

She tugs against it but it doesn’t give. It’s not like she really expected it to, anyway.

Annabeth paces the room slowly, glancing around. 

For all intents and purposes, the room is well equipped with medical supplies. It reminds her of a cross between what a research center and a hospital would look like; there just isn’t anything sharp. 

In the corner, there’s a monitor (similar to one that her dentist used years ago when she had to get her _wisdom_ teeth extracted), and behind a make-shift curtain, there is a toilet and a sink. There’s also a chair posed directly next to the lab table / bed she woke up in. 

It seems like she’ll have to settle in. It’ll be her new home, at least until the end of the Winter Solstice celebrations, whenever that ends. 

Maybe after the night, she’ll be able to get into communications with someone who can help. 

That is, if Annabeth doesn’t find a way to break out herself first.

lxxxvii.

It’s a blessing that she has a small window, really, because the answer of where she is located is easy to deduce. 

She’s been waiting for the sun to rise so that she can count the days, but it never did. 

But it has definitely been at least three days, if approximating by the frequency of her meals is an appropriate measure of time. 

So, it can only mean one thing: Annabeth is in Alaska, the Land Beyond the Gods. She has only been here once, as a part of a quest with Hazel and Frank. It hadn’t been particularly enjoyable.

This is horrible news, because if her exploration in the past three days has been anything to go by, this place is sealed shut. There is no hope of escape.

_Fuck._

lxxxviii.

“This will just be a pinch, sorry,” Clark apologizes, and Annabeth nods. 

It’s not that she owes him any manners, but she much, _much_ prefers the burly man (who also likes to wear sunglasses indoors, as she observed) to the other. For one, Clark doesn’t derive sadistic pleasure in abusing her as the other man does. 

She winces, and Clark gives her a sympathetic look. Annabeth looks away.

He draws her blood into the quart size bag, and when he is done, Clark gently takes out the needle before putting a bandage on her inner arm, releasing the elastic band. He dumps the used syringe in the sharps bin on the wall across him. 

“You know the drill,” he says, and she does.

This is the third time that she had her blood drawn within five days, and while Annabeth is not too worried about her body replenishing itself, she has not been fed that well. She has to take care to not stand up too abruptly, as Clark has suggested, and get some rest whenever she can. 

She’s captured, but she still has her dignity. Annabeth doesn’t want to pass out on the floor, especially if Jared were to visit. Jared doesn’t even consider her human.

The door opens with a click, and she recoils with a start. 

Seeing her reaction, Clark sighs subtly at her, making a _I hate this too_ face, before composing himself and smiling at Jared, “I thought I was in charge of the tests today?”

“There’s been a change of plans.” Jared smiles, too, but it is one without feeling. 

“Oh? Well, I believe that Miss Chase needs her rest here. I just drew some blood for the labs, and she hasn’t had lunch yet.”

Annabeth tries to flash him a nod of appreciation, but Jared just chuckles, as if Clark is a child who’s just made a joke that warranted some condescending acknowledgement. 

“She is a _terrorist_ , Clark, so it would do well for you to actually remember that.”

“I am not a terrorist--”

Jared ignores her. “I’ll take it from here,” he says to his colleague. _This is not a request_ , he seems to say.

Clark holds his gaze for a moment before sighing, adjusting his sunglasses. It’s become apparent to Annabeth that Jared outranks Clark here. “I’ll be outside,” he seems to address Annabeth, trying to bring her some sort of assurance.

Annabeth does not feel comforted.

Clark ducks out, and the door clicks shut.

Jared sits comfortably on the chair next to her.

“So,” she starts dryly, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Oh,” Jared says, drawing out the vowel, “I just want to gain some insight to your... _activities._ ”

“My _activities_?”

“You are… Getting rather _intimate_ with one of the creatures that we are trying to capture, so we want to learn more about you.” Jared drawls, as if this is all a game to him and he is immensely enjoying himself. 

“What?” Annabeth asks. She looks at Jared; he comes without any equipment or probes. _Interesting._

This is the first time that anyone’s tried to make conversation with her since she arrived. So far, it’s been tests, after tests, after tests. 

They would take her blood every other day, force vitamins (that’s what Clark called the pills - they can be any drugs for all she knows) down her throat, and make her run on a treadmill like a gods damned _hamster_ as they measure her physique against a set of pre-defined metrics. It is not _worse_ than anything she’s experienced previously on quests, but it certainly has not been the most pleasant thing to do.

She misses her apartment and her job and her friends and Percy and normalcy.

Jared smiles. “He says that you’re a daughter of _Athena_ , that you are supposed to be wise. Smart. Cunning, even. And you can’t figure this out?”

“He?”

“Samuel Douglas sends his regards.”

 _Sam, Triton’s son?_ Annabeth’s mind reels.

“He was a nice boy, Sam.” Jared continues, pondering, “despite being half of _that inhuman monster_ , this boy has some sense in his head. He knows what’s best for himself. If you do, too, you would tell me what I need to know. Then, maybe, we can consider letting you leave.” Jared laughs like he’s just told himself a funny inside joke and it chills Annabeth.

Carefully, Annabeth weighs her next words. “He traded information about me for his freedom? _Why_?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, except he says that you’re fucking his dad and he’s not very happy about that,” Jared looks distastefully at her.

 _Ah_ , Annabeth realizes with a start. _So Sam’s bitter, and Jared thinks I’m a whore. And this must have happened a while ago, before Percy told Sam that Sam’s Triton’s son._

What a fun situation to navigate around.

“So you know about me, and my relationship,” Annabeth probes, not wanting to say Percy’s name. She isn’t fully sure that Jared and company are fully in the know of the world of Greek gods.

Under the harsh, contrasting lights, Jared looks every bit like a proper monster, even though Annabeth can tell that he is fully mortal. The glint of enjoyment in his eyes makes Annabeth feel sick to her stomach. 

His pressed white suit nearly glows, and the rest of his ensemble is equally pristine. Annabeth feels more threatened than she has in a very long time (and maybe she has grown much more complacent than she ever has the right to be as a demigod since she became intimate with Percy), and Jared, bearing his teeth, invites her to the other corner of the room, where the monitor is. 

*

“This was one of the most _curious_ cases I’ve seen, and it remains so even twelve years later,” the agent plays a tape of her falling from the St. Louis Arch into the river below, and then walking out a short moment later. 

She gapes. Annabeth has not expected to see this.

“Until history repeats itself just four months ago,” Jared ignores her and pushes on. He presses a button on the remote. The scenery on the monitor changes; then, she falls from an impossible height on top of the Atlantic Ocean, and disappears right before she hits the water. Jared freezes the frame. “We wanted to know how this was possible, but we couldn’t find you. You destroyed a _national monument_ at twelve, and aside from a brief appearance from a police report we found in Los Angeles, there were no records of you.”

Annabeth can’t help but let out a little smile.

Jared doesn’t find that amusing. 

“You have no idea how much _money_ the government wasted to solve this little stunt you pulled. Do you think that this is _funny_ ?” Jared sneers, “But you _are_ clever, and I will give you that: we finally found you this January, and I’ll give you credit for how you disguise yourself among humans and how you kept thwarting our plans.”

“I _am_ human,” Annabeth interjects, her brows furrowing together. “And the monsters destroyed the Arch, it wasn’t me.”

Jared ignores her. “And then we realized. You have _that_ creature protecting you. Setting its eyes on you. That’s why you lived. They call themselves gods, and you are half of one.”

“They are gods.”

“Gods and religions are myths. This entity you’re with,” Jared waves his arm and presses something on the remote. The picture on the screen shifts to one of Percy, one where the two of them walked the streets of Manhattan, hand in hand, “it is something else, and we need to understand it and harness its power.”

“You have no idea what you are playing with. Percy is a literal _god_. And however much human arrogance you have, you can’t even touch him.”

“Then we will keep destroying this faith until there is nothing left. Creatures like this, they can be killed.”

The confidence and conviction from Jared’s speech leaves Ananbeth unsettled, to say the least. “What do you mean?”

The man smiles, but he doesn’t elaborate further. 

lxxxix. 

Victory comes in the form of a crack in the wall. 

Inspiration strikes Annabeth when she sees Clark put in another syringe needle in the sharps box just the day prior, and she waits until her last meal of the day is served before trying to shake the hazardous box loose.

Surprisingly, it comes easily off the wall; she knows from what few science classes she has taken in school that this container has to be replaced on a regular basis.

She had wanted to try and find a razor in the box (and she did, not before getting a nasty cut under the nail of her pointer finger, which hurts like a motherfucker), and hid it behind the toilet.

When she knelt by the wall to hang the box, Annabeth hears the hint of a wail.

It’s a familiar wailing, coupled by the occasional mention of a “sonny.”

It’s Echidna, and Annabeth hasn’t encountered her in twelve years.

“Mother of monsters,” Annabeth breathes into the crack in the wall as she puts the box on the floor next to her. 

The wailing stops for a second.

Annabeth scrambles sideways as some drops of acid sprinkles through the wall, sizzling the material around the crack. The crack expands slightly, and she gets a better view of the occupant in the cell next to her. 

She carefully backs away from the wall, slightly, so Echidna can have a clear view of her.

“ _You_ ,” Echidna growls. “You killed my sonny.”

Annabeth supposes that she did ( _twice_ ), but she raises her arms in defense, gesturing at the blinking restraint on her wrist. “I’m here as a prisoner, _they_ took your sonny. And Sphinx, too.” Annabeth adds for good measure _._ She is almost completely certain that these men planted the Sphinx and the manticore in the mall back in Albany for her to discover.

“Really?”

“Really,” Annabeth confirms. 

“I did see them capture him,” Echidna chokes back a sob.

Annabeth’s mind flashes the time she encountered the chimera in May, half a year ago. She thinks of the people who pulled the big bronze cage around the block as she fought, and with a start, Annabeth realizes that those people belonged to the same group of agents who’s taken her here.

They all wore white suits.

“Maybe your sonny is still out there,” Annabeth says carefully, thinking fast, “maybe if we escape, we can find him.”

Echidna considers, her fair eyes squinted at Annabeth, trying to detect a lie.

Annabeth squares her shoulders and looks back, evenly. Technically, even if she did kill both the chimera and the Sphinx during the past six months, these white suited mortals put these monsters in her way. They _did_ indirectly capture the children of Echidna, and lead them to their deaths. 

A couple of heartbeats pass and Echidna backs slightly away from the crack, satisfied. Annabeth can see her snake tail slither around on the ground. “Alright, daughter of Athena. Tell me about your plan.”

xc. **** include M rated content for violence ****

It must have been the ninth day (or tenth, depending on how long she passed out for before waking up in her cell) since she arrived, and Annabeth knows that today is as good as any other day for her and Echidna to break out of the cell. 

Jared was _supposed_ to show, but Clark does instead.

“Where is Jared?” Annabeth asks, trying to appear nonchalant. Her throat is dry. She doesn’t want Clark to die.

If Clark notices her unease, he doesn’t say anything. She can’t see his true emotion anyways, because he’s still wearing those sunglasses of his. “I gave him a bottle of whiskey and asked to take the shift; I know he doesn’t treat you well.”

“Thanks,” Annabeth squares her jaw balls her fist. It _shouldn’t_ matter that this man is kind to her. She can’t back off, now. She’s made a deal with Echidna. This is her only chance at getting out. 

Annabeth’s heart beats wildly when she takes a seat on the metal table, the steel not feeling as cold and impersonal when she touches it. Her own palms are made of sweat and heat. 

Clark turns to take a seat, and, as predicted, the chair collapses. Annabeth has worked through the night prior, using the razor she found to unscrew the chair. 

Not waiting for him to react, Annabeth takes the hollow metal tube that was once the chair’s leg and drives the end with the shards (that she shaped with other sharps in the box) into Clark’s stomach. 

Clark struggles and tries to get his gun, but it’s too late.

Annabeth wrestles the weapon out from his grasp; her palm is slippery with sweat and the gun clatters away. _It doesn’t matter_ . Clark is a large burly man, and perhaps they had assumed that she lacks strength because she is a woman, but she is also a demi _god_. A daughter of Athena, no less.

Her strength is nothing to scoff at.

Clark was kneeling, but he falls completely.

Red blossoms out from his midsection, and it spreads, and it spreads. It’s mesmerizing, maybe, but Annabeth just wants to throw up, especially when she hears the gurgle of blood that Clark makes with his mouth. She is reminded of all the lives she had already taken before. 

But there is hardly time to think. 

She briefly considers using the razor to make the end of life easier for Clark, because she can still see the twitches of his fingers (maybe he was trying to call backup), but the door clicks open and Jared flies in, glaring at her with unfocused eyes.

He shoots, and she barely dodges, and he marches in with a machete.

Annabeth’s eyes widen, holding up her hands in defense. A razor is no match for a knife.

She backs up slowly, and Jared _grins_ , barely taking note of his dying colleague wheezing on the floor. 

It’s psychotic, but who is Annabeth to judge at this point?

Annabeth backs up, more, noting that she’s stepping into a pool of blood. Her toes feel sticky once her socks are soaked with Clark’s blood. Clark, who lays by her feet, still struggling to breathe and gurgling blood. Oh gods.

 _Focus_. 

“You’ve done it. You’ve proven yourself as a monster. And they think you’re just a little girl. You’re a weapon and a terrorist and I’ve been _right_ all along.” Jared says, tracing his finger down the machete. 

Annabeth can smell the whiskey from his breath. He may not be that clear minded at the moment, but from the short distance between the two, he won’t miss. 

“I’m just impressed that you managed to capture _Echidna, the mother of monsters_ , too.” Annabeth says, loudly. 

Names have power.

“How did you know--” Jared starts asking, but a spray of acid came from the crack of the wall behind him, and upon contact, it hisses and dissolves his skin. 

Annabeth takes the chance to roll across the surface of the lab table to avoid being caught by the machete Jared is slashing and waving around in the last seconds of his life. Some of her skin comes in contact with the little drops of acid that managed to land on the table, but she bits her lip and tries her best to ignore the burns and pains. She ducks down and waits for a few more seconds.

She can hear Jared convulse on the ground before stilling, and Echidna’s cackles on the other side of the crack echoes through their cells. The crack is much bigger now, with the acid burning through the wall. While Annabeth was working on the chair last night, she instructed Echidna to chip away at the layer of protective sealant the agents coated on the wall. Without it, the acid burns through easily. 

Turning back to the agents, Annabeth wastes no time. 

She checks for Clark’s pulse, thanking the gods that he is finally, _finally_ dead, before using her fingers to brush his eyelids close and fixing the crooked sunglasses to cover his eyes. Then, Annabeth finds the two men’s guns and badges, and hesitates for a slight second before handing one of each to Echidna through the crack. 

The guns are celestial bronze, but Annabeth wastes no time to consider the implications of that.

Turning back, she strips the socks and shoes off of Jared (who seems to have smaller feet than Clark), tears off her own blood soaked socks, and puts the clean pair on her feet. They are slightly too large, but they’ll make do for the moment.

She thinks a little more and undresses Jared, taking his shirt, his jacket, and his pants for herself. It’s dead winter in Alaska; Annabeth wants to last. 

When everything is set, Annabeth clicks the door open gingerly. Echidna does, too. 

If the agents didn’t know about what’s happened (from the commotion or from Jared’s and Clark’s last efforts to communicate, if there were any), they surely do now. Once Annabeth leaves her room, the device on her wrist blinks red.

But security is strangely scarce, and Echidna and her makes it all the way to the front door of the lab. Annabeth swipes with Clark’s badge, and the door opens to the frigidity of the environment outside. One more step and she will be _free_.

“I can’t go,” Echidna shakes her head suddenly, her tail curls beneath her, coiling and uncoiling agitatedly. 

“What?” Annabeth isn’t sure if she hears Echidna correctly. Her eyes dart to the darkness outside and back to the mother of monsters.

Annabeth thinks about how she’ll hotwire one of the agents’ cars; maybe there are even some food or drinks instead for her. 

“My sonny needs me, I can’t leave him.” Echidna says with finality, looking at Annabeth as if she wouldn’t understand.

Annabeth wants to laugh, and bark at her, and to tell her that her _sonny_ is in _Tartarus_ because Percy sent the chimera there in _May_ , but she stops herself at the last minute.

She thinks about the agents that are coming any second, and how, if they have celestial bronze guns, they can easily kill her. Echidna can serve as an excellent distraction. 

But Echidna does not wait for her to make the decision anyway; she turns and slithers back into the corridors.

“Take care,” the monster’s voice echoes down the call, and Annabeth pushes herself into the opposite direction, _into the cold_ , knowing that she is the true monster for sending Echidna in a hopeless, deathly hunt.

  
 **a/n: how do you define what a** **_hero_ vs. what a _monster_** **is, anyway?**

**also, holy fuck, this chapter is just shy of 4k words. _wow_. please leave a review & your theories down below! would love to hear what you think :) **


	19. anything for you (all of this is true)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> make a wish, annabeth - it's the new years!

“I am your thought, but the water's amnesia

My name's on the tip of your tongue

My image is slipping, though your memory is gripping it

This is my breath in your lungs”

~ _Echo_ by The Hush Sound

* * *

xci.

“You drove,” Annabeth exclaims, surprised.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I have never really done that before.”

Touched, Annabeth searched his green eyes. They are human. “Thank you for coming to save me.”

“You saved yourself.” He says softly, “though, anything for you.”

xcii.

“You’re so quiet,” Percy says, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, worried. He’s frowning deeply.

Annabeth does not reply. 

In her mind, she replays her escape. 

She thinks about Clark’s sunglasses sliding down when he fell, the metal rod impaled firmly in his chest. Annabeth recalls his accusing stare, shock and betrayal clear as day. 

One of that man’s eyes was blinded, and perhaps that was why he chose to wear sunglasses indoors, but the fading light from the remaining eye was etched into her mind. It was blue, so _blue_ , and it reminded her of Luke. 

She thinks about her own death so much it all feels like a memory but it’s the others’ that plague her and crowd her, constantly, awake and asleep.

“Annabeth,” Percy tries again, and her name on his tongue sounds so safe, so familiar, but her mind is a million miles away. She can’t concentrate on explaining what happened to Percy despite her best efforts. 

Fortunately, he doesn’t rush her. Left hand on the steering wheel, Percy reaches for hers with his right; she flinches slightly, and he hesitates for a second before retracting his hand and putting it back on the steering wheel. His knuckles are white from his tight grip. 

Annabeth wants to apologize, but she doesn’t even have the strength for that. She feels guilty and while it’s a familiar feeling to her, she hasn’t revisited its intensity in years. 

She looks down. 

Her hand is still slightly sticky with blood (for when she peeled the bloody socks off), and the gun is still sitting in her lap. The grip is coated with steel: of course, the mortals would not be able to hold the gun otherwise.

She thinks back to how she murdered Clark, and indirectly, Jared. Annabeth thinks about how she sent Echidna to her doom, not telling the mother that her son was already sent to Tartarus. Annabeth knows that if anyone is the true monster in this case, it’s her.

Dimly, she thinks about how many more years of therapy _this_ is going to require, but scoffs internally at that ridiculous thought. Being alive is enough of a luxury as it is, how can she even afford to think about her mental wellbeing at this moment? 

Thankfully, she is as well as she can be physically. 

Gods bless Percy, because Percy turned the heater in the car all the way up, and he offered her a coat (many sizes too big, but she isn’t complaining) so Annabeth can take off Jared’s old clothes. She doesn’t want the smell of a dead man to remind her of what she’s done. 

Still, the white linens she wears underneath are not that white anymore, and she’s feeling as traumatized as she was the day she fished herself out from Tartarus.

It’s a terrible feeling. She’s just glad that she isn’t completely alone.

*

“I just needed a minute,” Annabeth says after a couple hours, shifting, “how many days has it been?”

“I thought you fell asleep,” he says thickly, “it’s been nine days since the Solstice. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to get here.”

“Don’t be,” Annabeth shakes her head.

“Let me know if you want to go for a bathroom break, we are a bit aways from the lab now -- but we still aren’t far enough. Not until we leave the state and I get my powers back.”

Annabeth hmms in acknowledgement. “How did you find me?”

Percy takes a hand off the wheel and fishes something in his pocket in response. 

It’s her sand dollar necklace. She accepts it, careful to not taint the necklace with the blood that caked on her hand.

“Well, as my father says, what belongs to the sea can always be returned to the sea.”  
Annabeth carefully ties the necklace around her neck. “That’s so cryptic. I thought you don’t have your godly powers here?”  
“No, but I _am_ part ocean. Something about being a personification of the sea, as my mother used to say. Either way, I could sense the sand dollar when it was taken away from you, and I followed it here. I figured that you weren’t far from the necklace, wherever you were.”

“Thanks,” Annabeth is touched. She remembers how empty the corridor was when Echidna and her first broke out, “you distracted the agents when you retrieved the necklace. I was wondering why security was so sparse.”

A faint smile appears on his lips.

“I may have exploded a water tank or two. And their toilets, maybe.”

Annabeth laughs for the first time in a week and a half, at the absurdity of the thought of exploding toilets, and her chest feels light. 

So light.

xciii.

Annabeth kisses him, feeling the roughness on his chin. She traces a finger down his neck, seeing his Adam's apple bob under the faint moonlight. 

Formerly, she could sometimes see vaguely golden wave-like patterns on him, as if there is an undercurrent of riptides running right beneath his skin, shimmering and fluid. She doesn’t notice them until they are gone.

The slight glow that usually accompanies him is absent, too. His hair doesn’t seem like it defies gravity as much, anymore. She isn’t used to the bareness, but she likes it.

“You have some stubble,” Annabeth vocalizes her earlier observation. 

“Oh?” He asks absentmindedly. “I suppose I age here. It’s taken me more than a whole week to drive to the lab.”

“You age?”

“I don’t have my divinity here, after all.”

“And you sleep?”

“I tried not to when I was driving here,” he admits, “but I nearly crashed out of fatigue, so I suppose I do.”

“Then sleep. We can both use some rest,” she says, reclining their seats and pulling in some blankets around them. God or not, his presence makes Annabeth feel safe and protected, and she hopes that she can be of some solace to him, too.

xciv.

It’s another uneventful day of driving, away from civilization. Percy didn’t have the foresight to conjure cell phones before he plunged into Alaska to find her, so they are isolated for all intents and purposes. When she asks him how he knows which direction to head to, he gives her a half-coherent answer about how he can feel where the heart of the Western Civilization is. He just _knows_.

She doesn’t question it.

Then, Annabeth thinks about her father: he is probably worried sick that she never showed. She considers calling him when they stopped by a gas station, but she realizes that she doesn’t have her father’s number memorized. That’s sad.

So, Annabeth settles for vowing that she’ll make an effort to remember it when she returns to New York. 

Sometime late evening (it’s difficult to tell when it’s always dark), they decide to stop next to a parking lot _somewhere_ in one of the National Parks, among some hills and ranges, and Percy suggests that they spend some time outside of the car for fresh air.

“It is many, many degrees below freezing outside.” Annabeth states, eyeing the outside wearily, thinking that this may possibly be the _most outrageous_ idea anyone has suggested to her. “We’ll both die.”

Indeed, they could barely _drive_ on some of the less maintained roads in parts of the wilderness out here. Dying of hypothermia after being stuck in a secret government lab for nine days is not of her particular interest at the moment. 

Percy doesn’t seem fazed. “I have a surprise. You’ll like it, I think. Do you trust me?”

Annabeth nods, surprising herself for how fast she responds. She isn’t built for trust, but how can she not trust him? There is no one else in the world for her to trust.

Annabeth clutches her coat tightly, and wonders if she should be reaching for Jared’s jacket for another layer of warmth, but Percy hops out of the car into the dark, and when he opens her door, it doesn’t feel like her face is in any danger of falling off from the cold.

If anything, it just feels like a chilly November day, when the leaves are brown and the air tastes like maple syrup.

“I heated the atmosphere around us; it’s a nifty trick that I still get to do, even out here.” He explains, eyes twinkling. “I’m not about to let you freeze, Wise Girl.”

She accepts it and takes his hand, stepping out of the car.

He leads her near the edge of a cliff, in the middle of a circle of melted snow, and sets down a small blanket. He sits, and she follows suit. He produces another blanket to wrap around them, and Annabeth leans on his shoulder and closes her eyes, breathing in the clean air.

For a second, she can almost pretend that everything is normal again.

She misses that normalcy.

“So,” Annabeth asks after a brief moment of silence, “what are we waiting for?”

It’s so quiet at where they are. Aside from the exhaust of their car in the background, the only sounds are of their breaths. At this temperature, there is no wildlife wandering around.

Percy crooks his head slightly to the left, before glancing at her and whispering, “soon.”

And she waits, and she _sees_ it, and she _gasps_.

A beautiful ribbon of green starts to stretch across the sky, reaching and twisting. It is a beautiful sight. She has never seen anything quite like it before.

“How did you know?” She asks quietly.

“Eos, or Aurora, is the goddess of dawn. She is technically a Titaness, the sister to both Helios and Selene. Since the Titanslost influence, I suppose that Eos keeps herself scarce, too. She mostly dwells in the north now; sometimes deep down in the south near Australia, I heard. I felt her presence earlier in the night, so I figured that we’d be able to catch a glimpse.”

Annabeth knows better to say that she has always thought of the Aurora Borealis merely as a weather phenomenon. It seems like nature is _always_ intentional, and _always_ rooted in the deities that make up these forces of nature; that’s been demonstrated to her again and again.

The sky is fully lit up in green now, and she looks at Percy. 

He is looking away and if he senses her stare, there is no hint of notice.

His gaze is trained at the skies; Annabeth wonders what he is thinking. However, she is afraid to ask.

She settles thinking to herself instead. Despite what happened in the past week, she is happy and grateful to relax for a second with him, here in Alaska. She drinks in the present, but she thinks about the future, too. It’s easy to picture what that can look like with Percy, if they can just stay, forever away from the rest of the world. 

“You know, it’s nearly midnight in the East Coast,” Percy says after a little bit.

Annabeth hmms in acknowledgement.

“It’s going to be the New Years,” Percy continues, looking out at the mountain ranges now. They can barely see the white peaks illuminated under the northern lights, sitting peacefully in the distance. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t take you around to experience all of the New Years there are like I wanted to.”

Annabeth gives out a small laugh. “I’m just grateful that I’m alive.”

“Me too,” he says, eyes finally trained on her rather than something far, far away.

“Make a wish?” She suggests.

“I don’t need to.”

He closes in, then, and they kiss. 

xcv.

Half asleep, she turns to his warmth and mumbles. 

“I think I was drowning before I met you.”

A pause.

“And now?” the boy whispers.

She considers. 

“I am the water.”

**a/n: it's annabeth's birthday today! she's turning 27!! tell her happy birthday!!! please leave a review if you've enjoyed :)**

****

**(artist: kaged640, commissioner: me)**


	20. i'll follow you (into the dark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hilarious if anyone thinks that the world would finally leave Percy and Annabeth alone. when did we ever say that any of this is going to be easy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, thank you for believing in me. this past month, i've been grieving for two losses, but it's been a cruel summer for everyone in the world, and there are much, much worse things out there still. 
> 
> i would encourage you all to donate to the Lebanese Red Cross if you can, and hey, make sure to check in with people who you love and care for, ya?

"And I miss you

I m goin' back home to the west coast

I wish you woulda put yourself in my suitcase

I love you

Standin' all alone in a black coat"

~ _West Coast_ by Coconut Records

* * *

xcvi.

They don’t notice the sleek white cars at first, but once they do, it quickly becomes peculiar. Civilization is scarce in the wild Alaskan winter; it’s been miles upon miles of desolation and emptiness in the past couple days of their journey before this.

Annabeth hopes that the five cars crowding them aren’t here to add to their troubles, but that is purely wistful thinking. “Percy, maybe we should--”

A loud crack slices through the air and their whole car lurches violently. Less then a second later, one of the wheels of their car starts making beats of _ba-dum ba-dum_ b _a-dum_ as it scrapes the pavement. It continues to hiss as their car swerves, skews, and skids along on one side of the road.

“Percy!” Annabeth gasps. She sees him gripping the steering wheel tight, trying to control their trajectory. Percy glances through the rearview mirror and grimaces; Annabeth turns her head back and understands why. 

A large group of scary looking men and women in crisp, pristine white suits are chasing after them. Annabeth dubs as the _Guys in White_ (GIW) in her head. She should have known better than to think that they would let her go so easily. 

One GIW from the closest cars catches her glance; she sees him brandish his steel pistol. It is obvious that he has just shot their tires. 

A million questions fleet through Annabeth’s mind: _are these all clear sighted mortals? Just how big and how well funded is this secret government agency? Do they know that Percy is with her and powerless?_ But there is no answer to any of this.

Their car can’t hold for long; they are teetering on the edge of spinning out of control. Annabeth can tell that Percy is using his powers however he can -- creating ice sheets from depositioned water vapor to block GIW cars and making the road icier to guide their own -- but these agents seemed to be well prepared. Supernaturally harsh road conditions do not stop them, and when two more cars appear in front of them seemingly out of nowhere, Percy has to turn, _hard_ , and they flip.

xcvii.

Crawling out of the car isn’t difficult, but when they stand up straight, Percy and Annabeth are firmly surrounded by some twenty odd people. Annabeth hates how nauseatingly bright their suits are; she can hardly distinguish them from the snowy environment all around.

A sea of clicks sound as these agents ready their firearms: it is a little more than intimidating. Annabeth is not liking their odds for this one. 

Percy pushes her behind him so that her back is blocked by the car. A protest nearly tumbles out of her lips before Percy turns slightly and gives her a look. _Don’t argue with me for this one_ , he seems to convey, and she doesn’t. 

Annabeth just secretly hopes that the car wouldn’t explore like cars tend to do in all those action movies. Those are just exaggerations made by Hollywood, _right_?

“Leave us alone,” Percy yells at the GIW, bordering on a growl. “You don’t want to know what I’ll do to you once--”

“--Once _what_? Once you get out of Alaska? We’ll make sure that you never do.” A large, ginger haired man bellows. “You are powerless here. Your son says so.”

Annabeth winces; this is not how Percy is supposed to find out about Sam’s betrayal.

Briefly, Percy’s eyes flashes in anger and amazement at the mortals’ insolence, but he schools his expression, face as stoic as ever. It doesn’t matter, anyway: there is no time to digest. These men don’t wait to shoot.

They aren’t playing games.

Percy keeps her pressed against the van, pinning her firmly against the metal. Her senses scream in anticipation of harm.

The cracks of the shots echo loudly all around Annabeth, ringing and ringing in her ears. She wants to bring her arms up to plug her ears; she wants to peek around Percy’s shoulder, but something tells her that any move will result in harm. Annabeth fights her curiosity to keep herself still. 

The volley of bullets charges towards them. 

Percy barely flinches at the impact (Annabeth suspects that it’s because he is trying to keep himself still to shield her), but their car is peppered with projectiles and the splintered glass slashes her face and her arm when the windows break. It seems like the GIW is determined to reduce their car into scrap metal.

Still, she can’t raise her arms in defense if she doesn’t want to be decorated by bullets herself. 

Annabeth squeezes her eyes shut and prays to whatever deity that exists in Alaska that this will pass soon. As expected, there is no answer: in the land beyond the gods, there is nothing and no one for her to pray to. 

The dust barely settles around them, seconds later, when one of the men shouts, “mortal weapons don’t work on it. Use your celestial bronze weapons!”

They close in, then, trained and methodically, and Annabeth hears Percy give out a curse in Ancient Greek under his breath. She wishes that she had had the foresight to take the gun out from the glove box for them to defend themselves, but what good would it do? The weapon doesn’t hurt mortals, anyways.

But to what the mortal says… She knows that mortal weapons can hurt her -- and that it would hurt Percy, too, theoretically. But it doesn’t, so, it can only mean that Percy is invincible in this form, however that may be -- maybe as an artifact of being Thetis’ son? Maybe she dipped her second son in the Styx just as she did with Achilles? It really doesn’t matter.

What does matter is the fact that it seems like GIWs have a limited supply of guns and bullets that are made of celestial bronze because most are whipping out daggers and swords that are glinting in the sunlight. They are pulling out traditional weapons made for all things godly. _How did they get their hands on them?_

She can’t dwell on that, because they are closing in quickly.

Something crackles by her side, and she rolls away just in time before the car shudders and the explosives underneath sets off. 

“Annabeth,” Percy yells from next to her, launching himself over her as the engine blows. The agents in the white suit use this opportunity to their advantage, and they are close, _so close._

xcviii.

Some parries and some jabs later, and the agents realize that it isn't the fault of their weapons that they can’t hurt Percy. It is just Percy’s unique property.

Still, they try their best.

Annabeth can hardly defend herself against the many, many people closing in with just the dagger she pried from one of the agents but she tries. Occasionally, Percy would intercept a swipe meant for her with his body, the knives bouncing right off of his impenetrable skin. Mostly, they fight together back to back.

But they are also a little overpowered by the sheer number of agents there are. The GIWs seem to want to capture them alive or dead, and there are definitely more than forty some agents now, most arriving sometime after their car flipped.

Moreover, she knows that she’s no match for forty well trained agents and Percy is already beyond exhausted. While fighting, he has to manipulate the surrounding environment so they don’t die of hypothermia, and before that, during the chase, he had already tapped the reserves of whatever sliver of his divinity he has left to give them an advantage on the road.

Just then, quicker than Annabeth can react, there is a flash of bronze and Annabeth sees, in slow motion, of the dagger that aims directly for Percy’s back, and she _knows._

The next thing she registers is a sharp, burning pain on her arm, and she is down, down, _down_ on the cold freezing ground.

“Annabeth!” Percy roars. 

He shouts something else (something along the lines of _nobody touches her!_ ) but her focus is elsewhere. Annabeth’s heart pounds as she tries to stem the bleeding from her stab wound with her other hand. The smell of iron is quite familiar these days, and her blood feels so warm against the cold. Her other hand is coated quickly, and it won’t stop.

Annabeth can’t help but feel that maybe she deserves this. Maybe this is karma finally catching up to her, punishing her for what she’s done to Jared and Clark and Echidna. And to all the others she had to hurt or kill before. Like Bob.

Well, it seems like she can still think clearly. At least she’s not in shock.

But Annabeth knows that part of her is starting to become delusional, and that she’s fading from consciousness, fast. Still, the real fascination is the men and women around her. They are all in white suits, all straighten their stance immediately and suddenly, all with their necks bent at an unnatural angle.

She can see Percy in the middle, his arm outstretched ( _that drama queen_ ), and all of these people’s heads lull like rag dolls. They are all just marionettes on a string. Annabeth thinks of the tv show they watched together. He’s _bloodbending_.

“Percy, don’t…” she manages, but he doesn’t turn to look at her.

She doesn't want any more of them to die. It's not necessary, to kill them. These people can be spared. They can't be the monsters that the GIW make them out to be.

But Annabeth can't help but let the thought slip. The pain becomes too much, quickly, and the last thing she sees are the suited agents crumbling on the ground all around her.

ic.

It’s thunder storming outside when she comes about. 

Percy is gripping the steering wheel tightly, a deep frown etched into his face. It seems like they’ve commandeered one of the sleek white cars.

Annabeth is too tired to say anything so she watches him weakly out of the corner of her eye. She doesn’t have the strength to move her arm, and every little vibration of the car sends a jolt of pain through her body.

Aside from the wound on her left bicep, Annabeth felt the raw skin on her wrist. Her heart skips a beat; it was such an amateur mistake. She should have known better than to forget about the cuffs she had on, but she _did_. And they both paid for it.

The car rattles, slightly, and she loses consciousness again hearing the pitter-patter of the rain against the windows of the car and the low rumbles outside in the distance.

c.

“You’re stupid,” he says, red in the face, when she wakes again. They are in a larger van now.

Annabeth registers Percy’s comment and feels as if it is a slap to her face. She has been called many things, but “stupid” is not one of them she is acquainted with. 

She tries to move in protest, but she can’t. An immense pain shoots up her arm, and she cries in agony.

Percy is still angry. “Stop moving,” he says roughly, but his touch is gentle. “Why did you take that knife for me? I’m a _god_ . I am also, as you may have discovered, _invincible_.”

She laughs, weakly. She can’t quite explain it either. “I just had a feeling,” Annabeth says with effort. 

“I could have lost you,” he says. Annabeth noticed with a start that he was crying. There are dried tear tracks all over his face. 

She shakes her head. “But you didn’t.”

“How did you know?” He presses, and she is confused, then. 

“Know what?”

He searches her eyes.

“Oh my gods, you didn’t-- I can’t believe this.” He murmurs.

“You’re speaking in riddles.” She probes. She hates not being in the loop. If she were not drunk on pain, she could probably deduce what he is referring to. But for the first time in a while, even thinking feels like too much effort for her at the moment.

“As you know, I’m mortal right now -- but for the most part, invulnerable.”

“Most? But you said--”

“--I know. I also have an Achilles heel in this state. This mortal state. Just like my brother.”

Annabeth understands. And that’s not all, either. “The tether: it’s on your back,” she states.

“Yes; you saved me. But you shouldn’t have.” He confirms.

“You’d _die_.”

“And you came close to dying! I have already lived thousands of years; it’s fine if I die.”

Hot anger rolls off of Percy, and for a second, Annabeth sees the terrifying shadow of _Perseus_ the god. Even though he supposedly has little power in this land, Annabeth hears the tumultuous roars of the waves in the distance. They probably aren’t even close to the coast, but she feels the ocean.

“I don’t want you to die,” Annabeth says irritably. “Plus, you’d be erased from existence; you won’t even get another chance at rebirth,” she presses, referring to the fact that gods don’t have souls like mortals do. “On the contrary, _I_ honestly don’t care if I die. I’d just go right to the Lethe and try for rebirth.” She adds as an afterthought.

“You _should_ care, gods damn it.” Percy replies, furiously raking his hand through his hair. “You don’t even get it, Annabeth. You just toss your life around like it doesn’t mean anything. You and all these other demigods--”

“--And whose fault is it, huh? You and all the other gods sit on your asses and order us around to do all your dirty work--” Annabeth huffs, half catching her breath. She still feels sickly, and her wound burns. Holding this conversation is much too taxing.

“--Don’t change the subject, Chase. Some are forced but you’ve always been given a choice. _You_ didn’t have to rush into any of these prophecies; they never had your name written on them. _You_ didn’t have to go to exonerate the lightning thief or to find a way to bring Thalia back. She is the child of the prophecy, not you. And another child of Athena could have taken the challenges that you’ve been issued for, and you and I both know that--”

“--You think someone else would be able to find the Athena Parthenos?” Her hubris flares, and she doesn’t even care how or why Percy knows what she’s been through in the past, “no offense to Malcolm or Zayne or any of the others; they didn’t understand the sacrifice that _little_ quest would take. They would have died in Tartarus. They never lost Luke and they never got their memory unwillingly erased and--”

“-- _Damnit_ , Annabeth!” Percy shouts, and she freezes, half in fear and half in reverence. The air thickens outside their window, snow melting and rising and _steaming_ . But his voice trembles next, and the boy breaks the car on the side of the road just to rest his head on the wheel as his shoulder shakes. “Damn it. You don’t even fucking understand. _I love you._ ”

He says that like it’s the explanation to everything, and it is.

Oh, what a bad idea that is, for a god to fall in love with a human.

Silence hangs between them. Maybe he expects her to say that she loves him, too, but she doesn’t. 

He runs his hand through his hair again, before gripping the steering wheel tightly, lifting his head and fixing her with the most intense green eyes she’s ever seen.

“Just… please don’t do that again. You don’t have to try to save me. Never again. Promise me.”

She doesn’t.

**A/N: hey, i'm back. i missed this project too much and to be honest, engaging with you all has always been the highlight of every week for me during the quarantine. i've got a lot i want to say but i doubt you're here to listen to me being all vulnerable and sappy, so, onto things that may pertain more to your interests!**

**a. commissioned art for this chapter, scene _ic_ , is posted in my [discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4)! i _love_ this piece and i'm so excited that its time is finally here:)**

**b. my instagram (just made one!) is[starlinks.art](https://www.instagram.com/starlinks.art/?hl=en) \- i'm posting some extra _ylml_ art (and general pjo stuff) there**

**c. so... i see that there is now a fic inspired by this fic on ao3! which one of you did this? fyi, i blushed.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all comments are much appreciated! you know how much i love to delve into insights for the fic in that section ;)


	21. i'm diving deeper (deeper for you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's percy's 27th birthday! you didn't think i'd miss it... did you?

"Baby, you're like lightning in a bottle

I can't let you go now that I got it"

~ _Electric Love_ by BORNS

* * *

ci.

Percy wants to keep driving, because he doesn’t know whether more agents are on their pursuit, but Annabeth convinces him to at least take a nap. She offers to drive, too, but he won’t even hear it. 

_ You need all your energy _ , he says,  _ you need rest _ . She thinks that he makes a perfect mother hen. Previously, only Will Solace holds that title in her life.

Nonetheless, with their seats reclined and both ready for sleep, he maneuvers in the tight space to lay on his side and stares at her.

“What are you thinking?” Annabeth asks.

Percy wordlessly takes her hand, and guides it to the small of his back. Annabeth does not understand it at first, but his hand stops, and she feels a tingle that runs up her spine. She's sure that he feels it, too. 

It’s his Achilles heel; it’s nothing she doesn’t already know, but he is openly conveying all of his vulnerability to her. Annabeth holds his life in her hands: she has the power to end his millenniums-long existence with the push of a finger, just like that.

“Why?” She asks, not wanting to undermine the significance of this moment.

“I just want you to remember. Remember how I wish we can just stay here. Build a home. Away from our world; somewhere safe, somewhere happy, somewhere no one can bother us. Somewhere out of the grasp of Olympus.”

“Would you give all that up for me?”

“Yeah… Yeah I would.” He says without hesitation. “I don’t want an eternity without you.” That scares her.

“But you can’t,” Annabeth counters, hoping that Percy would disagree. 

“No… I can’t.” He doesn’t correct her.

She takes her hand out of his grasp, feeling odd when she feels that the only vulnerable one here is herself, not him.  _ Mind over matter _ , children of Athena always say, but nothing she wills in her mind can change the matter at hand.

Beyond that, Annabeth feels betrayed that she is also secretly relieved. If they don’t stay in Alaska, then he can’t give his godhood up for her. She knows that she won’t be able to meet Percy’s expectations, anyway. 

She's just a disappointment in the end. It's been proven many times.

cii.

“You made the right decision,” Percy says. It’s been another couple of days.

“What?”

“Not becoming a god -- you made the right decision.”

“What do you mean?” Annabeth doesn't now how their conversation evolved to touch on this. Mostly, they've just been exchanging mundane little stories about their respective lives.

“I am freer than I ever had been in a long time, here. I’m not under  _ Zeus’  _ control. I usually can’t even say his name without fearing that he would give me undue attention and punish me for whatever he decides to on a whim. I  _ feel  _ things, Annabeth, when I couldn’t before.”

She frowns. “I didn’t know that you couldn’t feel before.”

“I could, it’s… It’s difficult to explain.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Emotions were exhausting to me, but now they make me feel alive. Electric. I want to live; I don’t want to just  _ exist _ . Being with you made me feel human and I liked that, and now, I’m mortal, at least more or less so, and it’s killing me in the best way because it hurts. It’s painful. But it’s so precious for me. I’m here and  _ present  _ and  _ feeling  _ and I don’t want it to end. Gods, I’m sorry for rambling. Does this even make sense?” He asks, eyes begging her to understand.

She would like to think she does, but hasn’t she just been trying to exist and survive, too? Living is a luxury reserved for secure and well-off mortals only. 

But maybe Percy is referring to something else, too -- she sees an urgency in him during the past week that she seldom gets glimpses of before. There’s an eagerness in the way that he kisses her, an excitement when he reveres and ravishes her body (very carefully avoiding her injuries) when they finally find a motel to spend the night instead of camping out in the car again. He feels so alive, and the  _ Perseus  _ she is used to feels muted around the edges.

The god was fun, and teased her at the right times, but she was pretty sure he wouldn’t have the capacity to love her (really,  _ really  _ love her), or tried to get her to promise her to not save him again, or asked her all these questions about how she felt and then shared this multitude of complex emotions together.

This one blushes red, and his eyes and tears don’t glow. He is always alert and attentive, and he feels like an equal. This Percy treasures every second of every minute of every hour of the day in a unique way that someone does when they know that time is a limited and a valued currency. (A currency where there are ends in sight, a currency where a poor man can comprehend much better and treasure than a billionaire ever can.)

Annabeth can tell that despite all of these things, this Percy is fearful of the emotions he now experiences. When he speaks, there is a bitterness undertone directed at Olympus and to his former being, and she knows that he is fearful of the implications of those thoughts. The very, very dangerous thoughts of betrayals and thoughts that can unravel his own nature: she sees him snuffing them out as soon as he spots them. 

They don’t talk about it, but she knows him well enough to see it in his human eyes. 

But still, he doesn’t think they can stay. And she doesn’t either. So they don’t talk about this as his foot remains on the gas pedal, racing towards the land that Olympus controls once again.

ciii.

He’s been glowing more and more, steadily, and he warns her to avert her eyes well before they cross the state line. Once they do, he will become a full-fledged god again, and he doesn’t want to burn her away with his essence.

But before they cross the border, he stops the car and pulls over. He steps out and opens the car’s door on her side. If the cold air bothers him, Percy doesn’t show. He stands on the roadside, shielding her from the wind with his body. 

“I love you with my entire being,” he declares. “Right now, all of me, all of my essence, copies, physical manifestations -- concentrated,  _ right here _ . I am all here, and I love you, Annabeth Chase.”

She puts her hand on his cheeks, barely making a shadow in his golden brilliance. 

Annabeth looks at him in the eyes, squinting from the brightness and the light -- they have begun to look like the ocean and storms and tides again -- and kisses him. She tries to hold her tears in.

Maybe she doesn't know him well enough to love him, but she does anyway. Annabeth loves him so much her heart aches.

But she doesn’t tell him how she feels because she doesn’t have the ability to. Annabeth isn’t ready because anything and anyone she loves leaves. Love is transient and elusive and she doesn’t need to know how Aphrodite is to figure out this tenant (an immutable truth) for herself. And really, she  _ can’t  _ and _shouldn't_ tell Percy that she loves him, because if they loved each other and if she admits it, then they’ll have to pay for that. 

Talking makes things real, and real things end.

That’s just the way how tragedies of heroes go.

civ. **\- tw: self harm, kind of**

“You’ll be safe here,” Percy says and she feels him step away, his warmth fading. “You can open your eyes now. I split myself so I can find my father. I need to make a case with him first before notifying the other gods.”

Annabeth blinks and breathes in deeply; she hasn’t been back in her apartment since before the Solstice. It’s been only three weeks or so, but that seems like a lifetime ago. 

She can also really use a shower.

Annabeth blinks again to adjust her eyes to the darkness of the room, and she almost doesn’t notice what Percy is doing until she sees a glint of bronze from a brief reflection of a sword he picked up from her living room floor, somewhere beneath her couch. 

He slices his arm, inflicting a generous wound on himself.

“Percy, what are you doing?!”

Ichor flows freely from his forearm; Annabeth notices that the cut he inflicts upon himself is deep. He’s taken care to miss his veins (if gods have those -- Annabeth had never been sure on how closely human anatomy actually mimics the gods’) but the wound is deep. He doesn’t flinch, only frowning slightly when he sees the evidence of his divinity once again. 

He walks to her windows in the living room, and  _ smears _ . 

“My landlord is going to kill me for that, Percy.”

“Better him than anyone else,” he replies, but there is no humor in his voice. “I don’t want you hurt ever again, especially not for anything relating to me. I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

“This wasn’t about you, Percy.”

“You’re saying that Sam didn’t tell those  _ humans  _ about you because he was jealous of the attention you are receiving from me?” Percy says, venom dripping from his voice. “He is lucky that smiting him is currently not on the top of my to-do list.”

“You don’t mean that. And don’t hurt Sam, please.” Annabeth says, suddenly nervous. She nearly hints that Sam’s bitterness is justified, but gods don’t take kindly to things like this, and what Sam did… Well, it’s a breach of loyalty. It doesn’t matter whose child he is. And no matter what, Percy is a god: Annabeth is well aware that there is another side of him that he had carefully hid from her. She needs to tread carefully.

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” Percy says murderously, stalking to her bedroom to smear more of his ichor on the window sills.

“Maybe, but he doesn’t need to pay with his life. That won’t change his mind. You inflicting pain on him is not going to teach him anything. You’ll just make him more resentful and Alyssa will be, too.”

“Alyssa is obedient; she won’t do anything like that.”

“Percy, please.” Annabeth begs, pouring emotion into her voice. She doesn’t know how much time they have, and the god she loves doesn’t seem inclined to listen to reason at the moment, “promise me that you won’t hurt Sam.”

Percy looks at her, his jaw flexing. He pushes past her and moves to her door. “Fine.”

Annabeth knows it’s not a promise on Styx, but she takes it. “Good. Now, can you let me know why you are doing this?”

“I’m leaving a piece of me behind with you. This whole building is protected; no one can come in or out without my knowledge, and, if they try to come and do anything to you, then they’ll die. These fuckers in white better brace themselves, because we are in my territory now. I won’t let anyone drag you to Alaska ever again.”

“I can take care of myself.” Annabeth says reflexively, but she knows that there is no use arguing with Percy once he’s made up his mind, especially when he is wrathful.

cv.

“It’s strange coming to camp with you,” Annabeth admits as they come into existence next to Thalia’s pine. “No one really knows about us, except Will and Grover.”

“I doubt anyone would care to see us walk together. I’m not an Olympian, few probably have even heard of me. Plus, I’m sure you’ve walked in here with plenty of gods before.” He says this so indifferently. Annabeth notices the change in the air between them. 

He’s aged himself in appearance by at least a decade, whether subconsciously or on purpose, and she takes a step away from him sometime before they pass the border. Maybe it’s just the environment, but he feels so distanced all of a sudden. 

There’s something else, too. It’s unsettling.

There’s some intangible sense of familiarity that raises some hairs on the back of her neck. Hints of nostalgia and yearning rolls through her, feeling as if she’s been on this little hill hundreds of times with him before. 

Annabeth frowns before she shrugs to brush the feeling off. It’s just a sliver of false memory. She walks on behind him.

**A/N: Join my[discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) and follow my insta at** **[starlinks.art](https://www.instagram.com/starlinks.art/?hl=en) if you wanna say hi :) **

**Also, I'd love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter! Speculations are more than welcome -- I really want to hear from you guys!! (Reviews make me jump in joy! I can use some of that; I mean it!)**


	22. burning cities (and napalm skies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if the world can stop spinning for a minute, just a minute, annabeth chase would have a chance to decompress. but since when does the world ever wait for you? it doesn't. so you endure, because that's what you do to survive

"I want to love you (but I don’t know how)

...

I want to tell you (but I don’t know how)"

~ _Neptune_ by Sleeping At Last

* * *

**for duda. hey, thanks for making me so happy**

cvi.

“Chiron,” Percy nods when they reach the Big House.

“Lord Perseus,” Chiron takes a step back, bows briefly, and turns to acknowledge Annabeth. “Annabeth, my dear.”

“Just Perseus is fine,” Percy says and Chiron nods, before leading the two of them into the Big House. Annabeth duly notes the formality between her mentor and her lover, and suddenly she feels like a child who doesn’t belong in the conversation.

To be honest, it’s a little odd why Percy invited her; she’s beyond exhausted and the rushed shower didn’t make her feel that much better. Annabeth _needs_ some time to digest what she has done (what _Perseus_ has done) but he’s taken her here instead. 

Maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on her. Perhaps it is for the best: Annabeth isn’t sure if she’s ready to unpack the last three weeks yet, anyway. The world forced their hand in cruelty but she wasn’t ready. _Maybe he was, but how could she ever be?_

“I haven’t seen you since James Berry’s exhibition in 1772, Perseus.” Chiron says, drawing Annabeth’s attention back. Chiron folds himself into his wheelchair and gestures at Percy to take the armchair at the head of the ping pong table. “I presume that you want an audience with Apollo? He will be here soon.”

“Thank you. And yes, it has been quite a while, hasn’t it? I thoroughly enjoyed that gallery.”

Annabeth watches the two, trying to get herself comfortable on the flimsy plastic chair at the side. She has no idea what they are referring to; she is surprised that she knows that James Berry was a British artist in the first place.

“It was a gorgeous painting, I’d like to think that Berry did your brother justice,” Chiron makes an effort at conversation, “Achilles was one of my finest students, you must know that. I have missed him terribly, but I know that he is happy in Elysium with Patroclus.”

“So I’ve heard,” Percy inclines his head respectfully. Annabeth knows that he doesn’t like to think about the insurmountable separation between immortal beings and the dead. No matter how much Percy would like to see his brother again, he cannot. But she knows that he is also trying to be polite.

Annabeth’s mind wanders. She never told Percy that she saw Achilles at the bank of the Styx; _why_ didn’t she tell him that day when they visited Central Park in November?

She doesn’t have another chance to dwell on that. 

“Perce!” Apollo bellows as he bounces into the room, “it is such an honor for you to _finally_ come to my humble abode at Camp Half-Blood! How have you been? I couldn’t even reach you for the New Years party and you _told_ me to reserve you two tickets in Sydney for--”

“Hello, Apollo,” Percy says dryly, half solemn, cutting the other god off before he gives Annabeth more of an emotional whiplash with his sunny perkiness.

“Oh, hey, you brought Annabeth! Is it true that--”

“--Apollo, _please_ sit down.” Percy says with a sigh, shaking his head. He must have said something via godly telepathy with Apollo ( _is it to keep information from Chiron’s ears or her own?_ ), because the sun god sinks down in his chair at the other side of the table. “ _Oh_ , that’s no fun.”

“No, it’s not: humans are planning to unroot the seats of our power and their beliefs. If we don’t play this well, many minor gods, especially those of whom who do not have their power rooted in intrinsic nature elements like me, will fade.”

“How did you find out?”

“I took a little trip to Alaska.”

“You _didn’t_.” Apollo gasps. “Voluntarily? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?! Being mortal is not fun,” Apollo says, glancing at Annabeth, “no offense.”

“None taken.” Annabeth offers.

“Anyways,” Percy sighs, “we have at least one traitor at Camp, but he had no choice to divulge some of this because he was captured himself. Intel from that probably caused that wave of attempted kidnappings in August, when Annabeth embarked on that quest.”

“Valdez is a traitor?” Apollo asks incredulously.

“No, not him,” Percy says quickly. “It’s someone else, but I’ll take care of it. Please don’t relay this to anyone else.”

Percy gives Annabeth a meaningful glance and she understands. Maybe some of his emotion and demeanor is wrapped under his divinity now, but the sea god still intends to honor her wishes however he can. He is trying.

Apollo looks at Percy skeptically across the table, but his relationship with Percy must have been based on a lot of trust (and maybe it’s just that he does not want to impede on another god’s domain), because the sun god shrugs after a short pause and sinks back into his easy demeanor, “fine. As long as I have your word. So what do you want me for?”

“I’m currently trying to convince my father to take this matter seriously and urgently, and I need your help to convince the other Olympians to take actions against this before it’s too late.”

Apollo laughs bitterly. “Perce, we’ve been best friends for millennia. You know Zeus won’t listen to me. He probably hates me more than he hates you.”

Percy sighs. “I’m not asking you to do that. And Apollo, this is not a competition; if it were, you know I’d win with my insolence. But what I’m thinking is that you can try speaking with Artemis and Hermes first, and Aphrodite after that.”

Apollo mumbles something in discordant and closes his eyes for a brief moment before muttering, “that bad, huh? I didn’t think you were serious enough to suggest me to speak with Aphro after what I did to Eros two decades ago. And what’s your plan for approaching Zeus? You know, it’s his sole decision in the end on when to engage.”

“Well, you know who he listens to,” Percy says, but he looks at Annabeth. 

Apollo follows his gaze to Annabeth, too.

“ _No_ ,” he says, “no way.”

Annabeth agrees internally. She doesn’t want any more involvement on the matter than absolutely necessary.

“Do you have any other ideas?”

Percy hisses then, doubling over with a hand on his temple and cursing under his breath. His other arm blocks Annabeth when she starts to reach over in concern. Instead, he shakes his head and stands up abruptly, surveying the room with stormy eyes.

“What is it?” Apollo says, tipping back in his chair and looking at Percy with concerned blue eyes.

“I need to go right now. Apollo, make sure Annabeth gets to Olympus safely. Annabeth, you know what you need to do. Avert your eyes.”

She does, and when the light subsides, she sees Apollo looking mournfully at the empty air.

“What’s wrong?” Annabeth asks, but Apollo shakes his head, his golden curls bouncing a little.

“I’m not sure; all I can sense is that something happened in Poseidon’s realm. For now, just focus on your task.”

“My task?”

“I think you know what it is, don’t you?” Chiron says, and Annabeth returns his gaze evenly. 

“I need to speak to my mother.” Dread pools in her stomach.

cvii.

“He loves you,” Apollo says in such a wistful way that makes Annabeth wonder if the sun god has ever had a thing with Percy. “I see the way he stares at you. I should have seen this coming, god of prophecy and all. But I didn’t.”

“So?” Annabeth tries to hold back her impatience.

“The Fates brought you two together for a reason. And I care enough to warn you that They aren’t just trying to weave a love story.”

cviii.

“Mother.” Annabeth kneels on the marble floor when she enters the great Temple of Athena on Olympus. She knows that her mother will be able to feel her presence there.

A replica of the statue of Athena Parthenos stares down at her; Annabeth briefly regrets designing it to look so large and intimidating. 

She mentally shakes her head. _Get a grip_. This is not the time or place to think about things like that.

Annabeth looks at the floor, and she waits. 

And she waits.

She knows that Athena can sense her, but for whatever reason, her mother does not come.

“Please, mother,” Annabeth says, “please. I need an audience with you.”

She waits again.

Still, no answer.

Annabeth is really getting frustrated and annoyed. For three weeks, she was trapped in Alaska because a secret government agency full of humans think that they can harness the gods’ powers. She’s killed, she’s starved, she’s been attacked, and she’s made Percy do the same.

She didn’t even have the emotional availability to vocalize her love back to a near-mortal Percy earlier in the day. Now, she’s waiting like a fool for her own mother to acknowledge her.

“ _Mother_ ,” Annabeth starts anyway, “I need your help convincing Zeus on an urgent matter. The mortals are afraid of us and they are planning to uproot the foundation of belief. We need to act _now_ before it threatens the integrity of Olympus.”

The silence is deafening.

cix.

Frederick Chase picks up the phone before the first ring is over. Annabeth’s anxiety spikes; she is half hoping that she doesn’t have to face her father but she has an obligation and a responsibility to check in with him.

There was once a time in her teens when she would talk more frequently to her mother than her father, and that is a sad reflection of how seldomly she talked to him.

But it’s a different time now, and when she hears her dad call out her name on the phone, a warm rush of familiar bittersweetness flows through her.

“Dad,” she replies, “I’m okay.”

“Annabeth, I was worried sick about you. I couldn’t get ahold of you no matter what and I didn’t want to bring this to the police. And then these people called… They were looking for you.”

“What did you say?” 

“I told them to fuck off,” her dad says with verve. She laughs, half in relief, half imaging her strict academic of a father mouthing off the government. 

“Thanks, dad, I appreciate it.”

A brief silence.

“Are you alright?”

“As okay as I’ll ever be.”

“What happened?”

“It’s… It’s hard to explain.” Annabeth itches to ask her dad to meet. Rarely, she feels this way. She’s used to be unwanted and abandoned, but she wants nothing more than his comforts at the moment.

But Annabeth thinks of the government men, and how weak her father is compared to all of these threats. Suddenly, drops of trepidation creeps into her, and her stomach drops.

She’s always kept him in the dark with her struggles, at first because he doesn’t want to believe what a demigod’s life truly means for her, then because she’s distanced and far away from him as a year-round camper, but in the past few years, it’s mostly just for his own safety.

Her entire mortal family’s safety.

“It’s nothing,” she tries to fix her shaky voice, “it’s just the usual run-ins with some supernatural otherworldly beings.”

“For three weeks?” Her father sounds skeptical. 

“Um, well, time flows differently where I was.” She lies.

“That’s fascinating,” her dad replies, “but it does not make me worry any less. You know you can tell me about these things, right? Annabeth, I want to be there for you.”

“Sure,” Annabeth says, biting down a mean comment that bubbles in her throat. “I know, dad. I just… I need some time to unwind after this, call work, shower, rest, and all that. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I just want you to know that I’m safe. Don’t worry.”

When she was young, he’d never even known if she embarked on a quest. Maybe she’s just assigning self importance into this call. Annabeth tries to urge her insecurity away, and to not psychoanalyze herself too much. Let’s save that for another day.

“Okay, Annabeth. Get some sleep, but please do call me back. I care about you. Helen cares about you, and I know Bobby and Matthew don’t show it, but they do, too. You should keep us in the loop.”

Annabeth swallows another twinge of bitterness tiredly. 

“Sounds good, dad. You take care, too, alright? Stay safe.”

“Okay. Bye, then.”

“Bye,” Annabeth says, and hangs up the phone, only slightly regretting that she didn’t tell her father that she loves him. 

cx.

She needs to call work and do her laundry and check in with her friends and so much more, but Annabeth can’t find strength to do that. 

She lays on her bed, and sleep doesn’t come as easily as she wishes. 

The afternoon sun filters in lazily through her windows as Annabeth scrolls through her phone, past the few notifications from her friends wishing her happy holidays. _Did anyone notice that she was gone? Did they care?_

To be honest, _she_ doesn’t even care that much at the moment. All she feels is a deep seated sense of exhaustion, seeping into her bones.

**A/N: figured that i should just update instead of editing the chapter again for the 12th time. i put a lot of myself in this one so i'm feeling a little vulnerable**

**as per usual, here's the fic's[official Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=pI9xCRzaQeyGWfQBU8PHhg) and **my ffn[discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) \- enjoy!****

****CHECK OUT THE TWO**** _NEW_ ****FICS THAT ARE INSPIRED BY _YLML_ (what an honor<3) -****

  * [caught up in the riptide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995877) by [nokreli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokreli/pseuds/nokreli) (HoO if percy accepted godhood at the end of TLO)
  * [come out and haunt me (i know you want me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002993) by [lafgl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafgl/pseuds/lafgl) (au of ylml's chapter 2)



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw there's a whole backstory for percy & apollo. like, apollo was in opposition to thetis & poseidon during the trojan war AND he killed achilles, percy's brother!! i mean, paris did, but only under apollo's guidance  
> so how did apollo become best friends with percy?? well, there's a long history there. i def don't explore that aspect in depth in ylml but i try to in my fic evanescence. maybe one day i'll write an one-shot for that


	23. let me sleep (i'm tired of my grief)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have you seen interstellar? it's my favorite movie. 
> 
> in that movie, they redefined what murphy's law really means: anything that can happen, will happen
> 
> as you've seen, annabeth and percy gets together in all these universes -- but the good is not the only thing that follows them. the bad does, too. so let some of that escalation begin

"I get it now that it’s too late

I never stopped feeling guilty

I’m over it, I promise that

I just gotta sing it out of me"

~ _Green_ by Cavetown

* * *

**For Simmi, who understands**

**Guys, do me a solid and listen to[ _The Wisp Sings_](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=3FeDwpU8QjSABZIhy30VlQ)[by Winter Aid on my playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=3FeDwpU8QjSABZIhy30VlQ) as you read this chapter**

cxi.

Annabeth can barely focus on setting dimensions for balconies on _Rivet_ , let alone endure Becky recounting the entirety of her vacation to the Caribbean during the winter break. It’s really a special kind of torture; Annabeth wonders if she should submit a suggestion to Hades for him to obtain a record of this _screeching_ for the poor souls in hell. 

“Annabeth,” Mary Ann says, slightly startling Annabeth. She braces herself for what the executive assistant has to say. “Delphine wants to speak to you. Can you go to her office in five?”

Annabeth nods. She has expected it. A reprimand from the Partner is almost warranted after she takes off an extra week of work without contacting HR, Mary Ann, or anyone at _Pallas &Co._ She’s been at the firm for a year and a half now, and she is up for a potential promotion for the Associate position later this year. Delphine has been one of her biggest supporters at the firm, and it would be a shame if Annabeth squanders that relationship. 

Shockingly, Annabeth can’t find herself to care all that much. 

Where emotions should run, her heart feels cold and numb. Annabeth wills for some feeling to come: fear of the future, dread of what drew Percy away yesterday, jealousy of Becky and her perfectly mundane life, loss of her newfound normalcy in adulthood. But there is nothing.

She’ll go to the stupid meeting and put on a pleasant face, and promise Delphine that she’ll double down on site visits and new designs, but the professional life she’s worked so hard to build over the past eighteen months presents itself as yet another thing to worry about, another hurdle for her to go through at the moment. 

She has a job that lets her build perfect structures that reeks of permanence, away from burning cities and napalm skies of the gods’ world.

That’s always been the end goal for her, and for a while, she’s lived this new life.

Annabeth has busied herself in work so much so that she doesn’t have to think too hard about what comes next. However, she would be fooling herself if she thinks designing the next mall or apartment complex brings her the satisfaction she so craves. There has been no sense of belonging until Percy comes, and even the sense of purpose being the official architect of Olympus brings has its limits. 

_Is it the balance of operating in both the gods’ world and the mortals’ world that she needed, or is it him?_ Annabeth scowls internally at the thought. She doesn’t _need_ him; she just wants him. But lately, there is no distinction in that.

Annabeth wants to be angry or bitter like how she was in her teenage years, but she doesn’t have the energy for it. She doesn’t even have the appetite to understand. She hasn’t even had a chance to _digest_ how she feels about the murders she’s committed less than two weeks prior and now she has to pretend to be normal. It’s not _fair_. She’s not one to complain about fairness, but a Hera-induced eight-month nap sounds _awfully_ nice right about now.

As Annabeth pushes through the glass door to head into Delphine’s office, she composes herself and let an easy professional façade settle through. She shoves everything under, deep inside her, so that these _petty little feelings_ won’t drown her. It’s always worked: demigods are good at compartmentalizing and cutting parts of themselves off that only serve to overwhelm. Emotions, people, things, places – anything.

It’s easier to stay afloat when you wear indifference as a life vest. Maybe sooner or later some of this would crush and drown her, but for now, Annabeth endures. After all, it seems like they may be on the cusp of a war.

cxii.

Ten days pass by and life almost feels like it’s back to normal, but she hasn’t heard from Percy in that whole time. 

_He must have been busy_ , Annabeth justifies. _It’s best if I don’t interrupt him._ Or maybe that’s just an excuse she gives herself to not think about him and what happened in Alaska.

Annabeth still see flashes of blank stares of those mortals in her nightmares.

More than that, she feels occasional flashes of unsettlement, compounded by a kind of static in the air that raises the hair on her arms. Storms of all kinds brew throughout the East Coast and mild earthquakes peppered the Eurasia continental plate; there are even some rumors that Yellowstone is going to erupt due to some observations of the recent seismic activities.

Annabeth has no doubt that it is _his_ doing. Maybe Poseidon needs some urgent help organizing the seven seas; she’s heard that underwater politics have always been a sort of a mess ( _but surely it doesn’t warrant this kind of a response?_ )

Mortals are suffering, but does Percy care?

Maybe _foreign_ is not the right word, but she senses that he has been trying to distance himself. Has the sea god’s brush with a semi-state of mortality in Alaska changed how he view the feasibility of their relationship, and of himself? Is there a silent resolution that she wasn’t aware of?

So when she gets off work early on a Wednesday, Annabeth swings by _Sweet on America_ for a bag of blue candies and sits on her couch, reaching out to him with her sand dollar in hand.

 _Hey, you okay?_ She prays, but there is no response.

 _I missed you._ Annabeth gives it a few more minutes. Still, there is no evidence that he hears her. 

_I have your favorite candies_ , she tries again, feeling more and more ridiculous.

How silly is this? She hasn’t given it much thought before, but the balance of power in the relationship is absolutely one-sided. Annabeth doesn’t like to feel helpless; she is a _warrior_. But though Percy does a damn good job to make her feel like she has jurisdiction over their dynamics and time together, things aren’t ever really in her control.

If Percy decides that one day he doesn’t want to see her or hear her again, there won’t be anything that she can do about it. She would just pine after smoke.

Annabeth shakes her head. _Since when has she developed so much dependency on him? Has she not learned?_ She can’t quell the sick feeling in her stomach and the ache in her arm.

She contemplates taking a quick shower to calm herself down, but she can’t help but feel that something is very, very wrong.

_Are you alright? Are you angry at me? Give me a sign if you’re busy._

Still, silence.

Annabeth sighs. She’s not going to try again and make a fool out of herself; the humiliation she experienced in her mother’s temple is still fresh in her mind.

The senses of abandonment jut with prominence in her mind. Athena had ignored her when she begged for her mother’s attention on her knees just ten days ago, and now, the man she loves is ignoring her, too.

Maybe this is the gods’ idea of fun, but it certainly is not hers. She is so lonely, _damnit_ , and maybe she’s been a little scared of Percy since his display of power, but Annabeth wants nothing more than to surround herself within the safety of his arms and sleep.

cxiii.

The air thickens with a sourly sulfur smell. Annabeth hears a sluggish pop before Percy tumbles out from the thin air, blindingly stretching one of his arms to balance himself.

She has never seen him like this before.

“Percy!” Annabeth exclaims in alarm, blinking traces of sleep away.

The stink of grief rolls off of him like riptides, tearing her living rooms apart with wafts of rotten eggs. Annabeth is reminded a little of the angry bubbly hot springs that she’s visited in Iceland during college, and she realizes that perhaps that is what Percy is embodying at the moment. There is no mistake that he is mourning; the world is attuned to the gods and she is a part of it. His demeanor and presence, at the moment, demands to be felt.

“What’s wrong?” She asks to tease out further details. She takes him into her arms and guides them both back to the couch. They both sink in it. Any frustration from prior bleeds out of her.

The sea god closes his eyes, clearly in pain. He turns his head away. 

“It’s my brother,” Percy starts, and he buries his head in his hands. He doesn’t show (or perhaps feel) emotion as liberally as he had in Alaska, but she sees a proxy for how potent his grief is when the apartment shakes and the tilted glass frame on her wall threatens to fall and break. 

_What do you do to comfort an all-powerful_ god _that you love?_ They never really specified in her copy of the _Demigods Survival Guide_.

Annabeth wants to ask him _which_ brother he is referring to, but that won’t help at the moment. Instead, she holds him close, muttering words of comfort and ease in his ear..

It’s a bit of an awkward affair; demigods lose friends and siblings all the time so she is no stranger to loss. But how can she help a deity cope? Annabeth knows that Percy had lost Achilles and some of his mortal children before, but what can possibly be the right thing to say to comfort him at this moment?

At camp, heroes take solace in the fact that when they die, they will either head to Elysium or Isle of the Blest. Loss is easier to deal with when you know that one day, you’ll see your loved ones again in the afterlife.

 _Friends and lovers can reunite in death._ This is what Annabeth told Piper when she was grieving for Jason’s death, and this is what Annabeth told herself when Luke and Silena and Charlie and Lee and Michael (and so, so many others) died.

But this is not the case for Percy and his immortal brothers. Gods, monsters, and other deities don’t have souls: if Percy’s brother is really gone, his essence unrecoverable, then Percy will never see him again. It is an irreversible wound.

Her heart aches for his.

She presses Percy’s head close to her chest, quietly singing an ancient Greek hymn she learned at camp. Annabeth is no child of Apollo, but maybe it can still provide some relief. Percy lets out a small sigh against her collarbone. Some of the tension in his shoulders leave with it.

Annabeth rubs his back slowly with her palm. He lifts his head slightly, and she can see the wet glowing blotches that he’s left on her blouse.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, looking at her shirt, “I didn’t even know that I can cry,” but she shushes him. Annabeth can swear that his form flickers a little, edges blurring, before he pulls himself to be solidly tangible again in her embrace.

“Don’t be, Percy. I don’t mind.” She kisses the crown of his head, brushing some of his black hair away from his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he mutters, but his body language suggests otherwise. Percy shifts so that his sets his head on her lap. He stares at her ceiling when she tries to meet his gaze.

“Triton is usually a pain in the ass, you know?” Percy laughs bitterly, and Annabeth is a little surprised that _Triton_ , out of all of Percy’s brother, has been the one that he is referring to.

Annabeth can’t find it in her heart to agree with Percy’s jab; to encourage him to keep talking, she settles on cupping a palm around his cheek and stroking it gently with her thumb instead. His chin is smooth again, and Annabeth finds herself missing the near-mortal version of the sea god that existed in Alaska. She shakes her head mentally – now is not the time for thoughts like that. That’s selfish.

“I don’t think we ever got along that well, maybe because of who my mother is, or maybe because we seldomly see eye-to-eye in all things regarding underwater politics, but I _can’t_ believe this happened.”

“I’m really sorry, Percy.” _What happened?_

He turns his head and looks away, “They killed a god, Annabeth.” He stares emptily into the air, handing her something, “Triton is gone and he’s not coming back and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Annabeth looks at the golden handcuffs in her hand; she didn’t even notice that they were gone in the first place.

cxiv.

“I know you won’t like it,” Percy starts, “but they have to pay for this.”

“Who did this? Who has to pay for this?”

She already knows the answer.

“Humans. Mortal actions and perceptions are responsible for this.” Percy says, but he doesn’t stop, “pollution of our waters had been a strain for all sea deities but that doesn’t really threaten the extent of our divine power and existence. What is _more_ puzzling is that there had been some sort of a campaign to erase all historical mentions of my brother.

“I didn’t take him seriously when he first mentioned that there had been deliberate attempts to destroy his temples some years ago. Civilizations knock things down to rebuild all the time; some of these nexuses of power are unfortunate victims in the process. Plus, portrayals of him in popular media never ceased, so I didn’t think this was a problem.

“I don’t know who had the idea to weaponize belief first, but they had. Tri never said anything about this if he felt it, but these agents we encountered tried to erase any traces of his mention in anything they had access to. Mine, too, but I was never popular in literary works.” Percy says, shaking his head and Annabeth’s heart seizes.

“Still, this can’t be enough. That’s _too_ easy.” Annabeth counters. It would be catastrophic if gods can be killed so easily.

“It would be,” Percy agrees. “These agents probably got their hands on a god-killer, somehow. Like what Medea wanted to do to Apollo and my brother-in-law.”

At Annabeth’s confused look, Percy added, “Helios. He was married to my half-sister Rhodes.

“Anyhow, weapons like that exist, and apparently we haven’t been careful enough to seal them all away. They usually require the essence of a god to activate, and if a god is weakened enough beforehand, weapons like that can turn the being back into the ether. Chaos. Whatever term you prefer.”

“Sam,” Annabeth breathes.

Percy nods. “They probably used him as the catalyst in this sick experiment. I don’t think he even knows. And I’m almost certain that the agents didn’t really think they would succeed. After all, they thought Sam was mine.”

 _Maybe they were targeting you in the first place,_ Annabeth wants to say. She has so many more questions for Percy, but she knows that no one has definite answers.

Moreover, there is no escape or excuse of what human nature may be like after the deliverance of this truth. Unlike what Mencius from _ER18: Classical Chinese Ethical and Political Theory,_ Rousseau from _Phil3: The True and the Good_ , or all the thinking and philosophy from _The Good Place_ wants her to believe, human nature is not good. Not evil, per say, but very susceptible to moral corruption.

 _Human_ nature dictates people to be inherently uncomfortable with things they don’t understand and beings that are perceived to be _different_. Annabeth doesn’t have to be fully human to see the various forms of prejudice that resides in the world.

It is the curdled fear that stems from the unknown and the limitless greed clawing at the promise of potential power to be harnessed for profit.

The antagonistic agents are weaponizing these tendencies, and some of that intended harm has already been effective.

But what does this mean for Percy? What does this mean for the two of them?

 _They have to pay for this,_ he says. Annabeth does not like it indeed.

She recalls Grover’s warning to her last summer: Perseus is a destroyer. As the god of loyalty, what will he do to protect those of whom that he is loyal to?

cxv.

Annabeth doesn’t remember how she fell asleep that night, but the sheets next to her is cool when she wakes.

**A/N: **as per usual, commissioned art for this chapter can be found on my ffn[discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) ****

**I've got the next chapter ready, so let me know if y'all would prefer me to just update tomorrow or stretch these out because the story is ending ~soon~** **Would also love to hear your thoughts for this chapter :)**


	24. and when there's nowhere else to run (is there room for one more son)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know when you feel like shit's going to go down but you just can't quite put your finger on what exactly that will be, or how hurt you'd be after it? that's how annabeth feels  
> as for percy's... well. he just wants sometime with annabeth for himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss the two of them just chilling on olympus, trying to understand who the other is; i just miss happier times
> 
> spot the half of it reference in this chapter

"Oh, Ophelia, you've been on my mind girl since the flood

Oh, Ophelia, heaven help a fool who falls in love "

~ _Ophelia_ by The Lumineers

* * *

cxvi.

_Triton_ , Annabeth types into the search bar on Google

_0 results found._

The cursor blinks accusingly back at her.

*

 _Charlie, do you remember anything from Ancient Greek Heroes?_ \- Annabeth

 _LOL barrrreeeeely. Why?_ \- Charlie

 _Just have a question about Greek mythology._ \- Annabeth

 _Dude I took that class more than two years ago. Plus it’s a gem so I barely went to lecture_ \- Charlie

 _Just humor me._ \- Annabeth

 _K…_ \- Charlie

 _Do you remember who Triton is?_ \- Annabeth

 _that’s Ariel’s dad_ \- Charlie

 _LMAO I still remember how we got in trouble with Prof Nguy saying that anytime Triton came up_ \- Charlie

 _Yeah, fun times…_ \- Annabeth

 _Well, everything on the Internet about him was wiped. Is that the same for you?_ \- Annabeth

[ _Charlie is typing_ ] Annabeth stares nervously at the screen, biting her pointer finger. At least it seems like for all that GIW can do, erasing memories from the human consciousness is not something they can do.

 _WOAH I can’t find a single thing about him_ \- Charlie

 _That’s_ so _weird_ \- Charlie

 _I literally remember seeing his Wikipedia page like two years ago when we had to do that project on Pallas_ \- Charlies

 _How did you even know about this?_ \- Charlie

[ _Annabeth is typing_ ]

She stops. How can she even begin to explain this to her mortal friend?

 _Don’t worry about it. I’m just curious._ \- Annabeth

 _Are you poking into stuff you shouldn’t be bothering with again?_ \- Charlie

 _Please tell me you aren’t_ \- Charlie

 _Omg_ \- Charlie

 _I swear to God, Annabeth. You can’t do this again_ \- Charlie

cxvii.

Dinner is a quiet affair by herself. Annabeth barely makes an effort to boil some pasta for herself and lather it with some canned Alfredo sauce. She still hasn’t had a chance to drop by the grocery store yet.

Then, the shadows bend and two figures stumble out – Nico, who barely nods in her direction before inviting himself to her fridge to scour for some soda, and Will, who flashes her a sunny grin before closing in for a hug.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, Annabeth. I’ve missed you!”

Annabeth debates whether she should tell them what really happened.

She gestures the two for them to settle on her couch, “Nico, I don’t have any soda in the fridge. Quit looking. There’s some freezer water if you really want a drink, though.”

Nico makes a face at her suggestion.

It’s an old inside joke Annabeth has with the two: once, in college, Annabeth invited Nico and Will over for a party. Cameron had put some vodka in the freezer in a nondescript bottle; the face Nico made when he took a big gulp before spitting it all out in disgust was priceless.

“I’m not on a college budget anymore, it’s the good stuff.” Annabeth asserts defensively, and Nico rolls his eyes again.

“Don’t be a bad influence, ‘beth. Neeks is not going to be 21 until later this year.” Will chips in.

“I’m at least, like, 87,” Nico calls from the couch.

“Don’t be dramatic, Mister Ghost King.”

Annabeth watches the two with interest, feeling slightly envious at the ease they have with each other.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Annabeth asks, noting how tired both of the boys look.

“I can’t just come a visit?” Will whines. “Besides, Nico hasn’t seen you in so long.”

Annabeth returns a skeptical look at her friend. Nico and her never really have much of a need to see each other; sometimes, she isn’t sure if Nico is still bitter over what happened with Bianca. She would understand if he is still resentful towards her.

“You won’t be shadow traveling in if this is just a leisurely visit.” Annabeth opts to say instead.

“Good point,” Will sighs, and Annabeth braces herself. “It’s about Sam and Alyssa.”

“What about them?” Annabeth asks tightly.

“They had been in a lot of pain the past two weeks, and Chiron had to pull me out from class to get to Camp to see what’s wrong with them. Some sort of a divine illness. Sam even tried to drown himself, which honestly didn’t seem possible to me until I saw what he did today. So, things are bad. So I was just wondering if you know anything about this, since you’re, uh, since you’re _close_ with their dad.”

Annabeth pinches the bridge of her nose. Her eyes dart over to her windowsill, where the moonlace plant still sits. Usually it makes her calmer to look at the plant, but it just makes her feel sad at the moment.

“I’m not close with Triton.”

“But I thought—”

“Percy’s their uncle. He claimed them because Triton didn’t want to bother.” Annabeth says, wincing when she realizes how crass she is being.

“Ah,” Will nods, understanding.

“But something happened to Triton,” Annabeth continues. “He’s gone, somehow. Dead, if that’s even a term applicable to gods. I don’t know the details.”

“Oh, Hades,” Will curses.

“Mind your language, dad hates it when people do that.” Nico says and Will doesn’t even bother to roll his eyes. He sinks his weight further into the sofa, leaning back and rubbing his hand over his forehead as if a headache is surfacing.

“But that’ll explain why the ocean’s all fucked up for the past two weeks,” Nico comments, not as bothered, mindlessly pressing buttons on her tv remote to switch through channels.

“Ignore him, he’s just cranky from me making him shadow travel all day.”

“Not my fault that Columbia is so far from Camp and Camp is so far from Annabeth’s apartment!” Nico calls out.

Will just waves his hand at him.

Annabeth finishes making some tea by her kitchen counter and opts to sit by her dining table so she doesn’t have to get between the two of them on the couch.

Even though Nico seems carefree in his mannerisms, Annabeth can still tell that he is deeply troubled. The son of Hades shakes his right leg back and forth, and Annabeth knows that it’s a tic that only shows when he is antsy and nervous.

She wonders if he’s already been around trying to gather intel from the Roman camp, and if Nico has known the true lineage of Samuel Douglas and Alyssa Gutwein all along.

“But this is serious business, isn’t it? How can anyone just get to Poseidon’s second-in-command?” Will asks.

“That’s what I’d like to know, too.” Annabeth sighs.

"You don’t think—”

“I’m not volunteering for tribute if there’s another war coming,” Annabeth warns, “I’m too old for this.”

“Yeah, not after Alaska, I guess.” Nico mutters and Annabeth fixes him with a stare.

“How did you know?”

“The dead talks,” Nico offers, as if that explains everything. Perhaps _dead man tells no tales_ is just a saying after all.

“Nico,” Will scolds and shoves his elbow to the son of Hades’ side. Then he turns to Annabeth, “hey, I’m sorry. He doesn’t know when to shut up. Are you okay?”

 _What kind of a question is that?_ How can she be okay?

How can she be okay, after knowing that Clark or Jared or whoever probably blabbed about her to all of the Underworld, making it so that her closest friends know what she’s done? How can she be okay when it feels like any semblances of normalcy is violently yanked out from under her feet just at the mention of the state?

“It’s fine,” Annabeth offers a superficial smile. “I’m fine.”

Will returns one to reassure her, but it is not that effectively. There’s a small voice inside Annabeth that wonders if the true reason that Nico and Will didn’t bother her was not to give her space, but rather because they were both afraid of her and what she’s done.

cxviii.

“Hey, you’re home,” Annabeth greets. Percy is sitting by the dining table on Friday when she gets home.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Annabeth admits, putting down her work bag by the doorway.

He stands up, pocketing the drachma he has been flipping in between his fingers.

She wants to give him a kiss – they haven’t shared one since nearly two weeks ago, right before they crossed the border from Alaska back to the land of the gods. But she knows that he hasn’t been doing well, and she doesn’t know if this is an appropriate time to show him some of her long repressed affection.

If she were stronger and braver, Annabeth would have told him that she loves him. Annabeth knows that she can still tell him now. But she still can’t find the courage for it. She hopes that he doesn’t resent her for that; she’s never been good with words.

There’s also a part of her that wonders if Triton’s death had occurred during the time that they were in Alaska, and if Percy blames her for holding him up so that he was not able to get to his brother on time. If that would have changed anything. It’s a small thought, but it’s been eating her up for the past two days.

Percy makes no indication if he can sense her internal turmoil.

“You’re thinking too much, Annabeth,” he only hesitates a little before closing the distance between them, whispering “is this okay?” and waiting for her small nod before pressing his lips onto hers.

The sea god’s lips are soft; a rush of emotion surges through Annabeth and she wants to cry. Some of that unbidden feeling surges through her, threatening to overwhelm the dam that she’s installed in herself the past few days.

It is as if he knows. A current of warmth sweeps through her. She doesn’t know what Percy did, but his presence is calming and reassuring, and a brief moment later, the concern of his perception of her mostly evaporates.

He pulls her into an embrace, and he sighs contently into her shoulder, relaxing his own.

“Are you okay?” She asks, pulling away slightly and levelling a stare at him.

“That’s a relative term. But I’m better now that I am here with you.” He says.

“Where were you?” Curiosity gets the better of her. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Annabeth adds hastily. It’s not like he has an obligation to tell her.

“There were some discussions on Olympus as to what kind of a response we should issue. And what I’d have to do if it escalates.” He says.

“You?” Why you?”

“I don’t have a choice,” He shrugs, not offering more. Percy’s tone is casual, but Annabeth has a feeling that this conversation was a big deal.

She wants to press and assert _you always have a choice_ and ask if he’s back for good, or if she won’t be able to keep him anymore for whatever that comes next, but she decides that the question can wait.

Quiet times like this has been hard to come by recently. They can pretend that eternity stretches in front of them, as it had back in the Fall.

She doesn’t want to ruin the weekend if it means that they can spend the time together and pretend that nothing is amiss for a split moment. Maybe that’s what he’s here for, too.

What’s the crime in enjoying ignorance when that is bliss? For all that Athena is wise, most of her children never learned that knowledge does not always equate to power. Annabeth had to sacrifice a lot to learn this the hard way.

She thinks back to a quote she’s heard somewhere, how things are only worth it because they end. She is inclined to agree with the philosophy for most things – life, achievements, entertainment, fame, wealth – but not this.

“Things are always better when we are together,” she says, steering the conversation away from dangerous waters and back to respond to what Percy said earlier, and he nods. He’s been waiting for her to come to this conclusion herself. Sighing, Annabeth asks, “have you had anything to eat yet?”

He shakes his head.

“Want me to make something?” Annabeth offers, even though that she knows he doesn’t need food, and that he can probably derive more pleasure from consuming ambrosia than whatever she can possibly offer him.

He shakes his head again with a small grin, “I don’t plan on getting food poisoning tonight.”

“You are a god, you ass. You can’t get food poisoning even if you try. I am somewhat competent at making spaghetti and meatballs; I don’t see you complaining before!” Annabeth exclaims, exaggerating some of her reaction, and feeling pleased when she sees a small smile blossom on Percy’s face. It makes her heart bloom.

“Alright, alright. Surprise me, then.”

Ironically, Annabeth decides on getting take-out, partly because she doesn’t really trust her culinary ability for anything other than pasta (and she’s already had pasta the night before), partly because she wants to just lay with him and feel his warmth next to her, trying to reel her mind in to focus on the present.

She’s never liked the winter. New York is always gloomy at the end of January, and snow storms in the past weeks peppered the sidewalk with grey slush. The sun sets exceptionally early and Apollo doesn’t seem too keen on changing that anytime soon. Though Annabeth doesn’t think that she has seasonal depression, it dampens her mood by quite a lot.

But he’s here with her, and that’s what counts. Ten months in, and still, every moment in time with him sips like a bottle of fine wine.

cxix.

They are past the whispers of fervent _are you sures_ but being twisted in bed sheets with him still feels sweet and soft.

Annabeth treads softly because she feels like she is treading on some fragile dreams.

When she looks at him, she sees the love and tenderness in his eyes when it is not marred by sadness. In bed, she turns away to look at the dew on her window sill; he traces the scars on her bare back and mutters, “you’re just clay.” She doesn’t like the wistfulness dissected from his voice.

This reminds her of the myth (or perhaps it is actual history) of how Prometheus sculpted humans from clay. Each had four arms and four legs.

Each of these proto-humans proved to be too powerful.

Feeling threatened, Zeus ordered the Titan to separate each of these individuals into two, shaping them after the image of the gods. So the proto-humans are separated into women and men; Apollo healed the physical wounds that resulted from the separation, but the forceful detachment casts a permanent shadow in the heart, a hole that cannot be made whole until the two find each other again.

And when they do, the couple would be strong and stable, powerful enough to threaten the gods.

That’s the origin of soulmates, anyway.

When she first hear about this tale from Silena around the campfire after the sing-a-longs one night many summers ago, most of her siblings found that to be a silly story. Annabeth did, too. It’s easy to be cynical about tales like this when abandonment is all she ever knows.

But laying next to him, Annabeth thinks that she may be inclined to believe. Gods don’t have souls _– so what_? She wants to believe that he is hers anyway.

He draws her in like she is the tides and he is the moon; Annabeth has been in relationships before, in college, but none of that compares to the connection she feels with Percy.

Sometimes, in her sleep, Annabeth dreams of strange flashes of life that never actually happened in reality.

She would be twelve at the back of a van – dark and shuddering occasionally from years of abuse. When she tries to peer through the haze to figure out where she is, Annabeth can make out the shape of Argus driving her, Grover, and an impossibly young Percy Jackson to the start of a quest; she sees her own hand take out a pack of Double Stuffed Oreo from her bag.

Annabeth watches as she passes the rest of the Oreos to him like it’s a vessel of promise for their friendship.

Other times, Annabeth sees herself crying into his embrace underwater as he counsels her on her realization of loss in the Sea of Monsters under the sirens’ influences. There are more snippets of her sniping at Rachel over him (even when she and Rachel had been nothing but amicable for the years they have known each other), her kissing a teenage Percy desperately in Mt. St. Helens before it blows up, her believing that he’s dead and mourning, waiting, berating herself for a failed quest, her taking the knife for him after a summer of cold shoulders, and her kissing him again before being thrown into the lake by their friends. She feels the devastation of his kidnapping and the ecstasy of their reunion and then the fear and determination when they both fall into the pits of Tartarus together, and finally, the sweetness of the declaration of love when she hears his promise to her in Greece.

Annabeth only remembers these dreams (dreams that are much more vivid than they ever have any rights to be) before she falls asleep, between the land of consciousness and Morpheus. When she wakes up, they disappear immediately and she feels nothing but a sense of loss.

In the twilight of sleep, she recognizes them and wants to grasp on them desperately because she knows that in that reality, they are _so happy._

It is not fair that they exist in this pained limbo instead, where they skirt around each other for an entire year, too afraid to declare and speak their emotions into actuality because of a chasm her mortality and stubbornness carves between them.

Maybe it’s her fault, but it’s too late now. They are teeing up for the next challenge and maybe it’s not meant to be A Big Deal, but she feels the change that is about to come.

She’s just not prepared for it at all.

cxx.

February comes after another couple of weeks. Annabeth almost falls into a false sense of security but she knows better.

The blanket of comfort is never real; it is just a lull before the storm. Annabeth Chase is a demigod, after all – her senses of apprehensiveness have rarely failed her. And she’s felt that something is looming over their head for a while now. It's out of reach, but it's on the horizon.

“What’s wrong, Annabeth?”

“Nothing.” 

“This doesn’t seem like nothing to me. Tell me.” He fixes her with emerald green pools, and she relents.

“Percy, don’t take this the wrong way; I’m just afraid.”

“Afraid of?” He asks, but he already knows.

“We keep talking about images and perceptions. Let me know if you don’t want to talk about this, but I keep thinking about what happened to Triton. They erased him by vanishing traces and mention of who he is. Can’t they do the same to other gods?”

“Yes,” Percy says hesitantly, knowing that confirmation in the wrong hands can wreak havoc.

“So how are you protecting yourself? How are other gods protecting themselves?”

“My domain is more rooted in elements with permanence than Tri’s, and as far as I know, I don’t have any mortal children running around. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Annabeth purses her lips. Even if Percy is referring to the constant beats of the riptides, she knows that nature can be destroyed. Pan had been a good example. And who is to say that there is nothing else that the agents can do to use to extract his essence?

But that’s not the only thing that she is worried about.

“They don’t have to destroy something else to destroy you, Percy. They are smart; they will use you against yourself. You have so much power – so much that it’s unfathomable to me. Sometimes I’m just a little concerned about that control.

"How easy would it be for you to destroy everything, even accidentally? If that happens, how do you think the mortals will view you? Do you know what that warped sense of perception can do to your being?”

Annabeth is addressing two concerns that have been brewing in her mind: one, Percy’s wellbeing and safety from mortals and two, the wellbeing and safety of the world from Percy.

“I didn’t kill those agents, you know, if that's what you are referring to.” He says hesitantly. “I know I don't have the best control over my powers and I need those cuffs when it gets too much, but I didn't do more to those agents beyond what I had to in Alaska. I can’t guarantee that they all lived, but I don't just destroy." He ends on a more bitter note.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Annabeth asks, surprised.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to. And for that matter, I didn’t know if you would approve that I let them live and leave. Plus, I know I have a sort of reputation already; don't think that I am not aware of some of these whispers about me.”

She doesn’t know how to respond. What does it say about her when a god thought that she’d be less merciful than he? What can she say when she's heard these shares of rumors about Perseus the Destroyer, and believed them for the most part?

**A/N: someone should take me by the shoulders and shake me until i understand the concept of how to stop being a people pleaser**

**if you are Doctor Strange, please examine the different possibilities of my future and let me know what to choose next so I can have the highest utility & happiness one day**


	25. tell me love is endless (don't be so pretentious)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit is going down because apparently when taylor swift made the album reputation, she was right about how how poisonous other people's perception of you can be. look, these things are fragile and someone has to bear the consequences. percy always knew, but annabeth is just learning. so, that's fun.
> 
> also: look, i didn't want to be a half blood. tower of nero is coming out today. throwback to when it all started. cheers

"And sometime around one

We fell asleep to escape from the sun

And we woke up to the sound of a storm outside

We stood at your front door

You looked at me and said "baby, this rain changes everything"

And my heart ran away from me "

~ _I’m With You_ by Vance Joy

* * *

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****

**for chapter 20. commissioned it from alex copeman**

cxxi.

“I’ve been looking all my life for you,” he admits softly, breathing those words into existence next to her.

Hearing his confession, Annabeth’s breath hitches and she stops herself before she shifts her resting head on his shoulder. Annabeth had given herself permission to close her eyes mid-episode because she was so tired – they had been watching _Lucifer_ on her couch, and she is nearly asleep when she hears Percy’s whispers. 

“I know I won’t have much of a choice for what comes next,” he continues, and Annabeth feels like she is drowning. “But I just don’t want to lose you now that I found you.” He is the water surrounding her and those words have a weight that she cannot comprehend.

Annabeth wishes she knows more about what he is alluding to beyond what he’s told her so far. He is acting like retaliation is inevitable, like an issued response from Olympus to the mortals will decidedly push them both under. _What exactly does Percy have to do, and why is it his duty?_

Annabeth does not pretend to fully grasp the sea god’s turmoil, but she makes a little noise, intentionally, before stirring and snuggling a little closer to his body. Opening her eyes, she lifts her head and blinks owlishly at him.

“I fell asleep,” she states, pretending that she has not just heard him a minute ago. 

“I can see that,” he smiles warmly at her, reaching over with his free arm to play with her curls. 

_I can get used to this_ , Annabeth thinks, not missing the way that Percy is gazing intensely at her with his sea green eyes. 

“What are you thinking?” She asks, and Percy shakes his head.

She hasn’t realized how the world feels like it is holding its breath until then, when the god releases the tension in his jaw and the clouds in his stormy eyes roll back just enough for some mirth to peek through. The atmosphere eases and it’s smooth to breathe again. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you this question? You’re the one who is doing an awful lot of thinking, lately,” he replies with a teasing smile and a friendly jab. 

It’s true. He’s caught her staring into space more than a few times in the past three weeks. Annabeth is just trying to dissect what happened before – and what will happen after. It feels like the calm before the storm. Things are heading into a direction she doesn’t understand and this loss of control terrifies her. He’s just so stubborn that he refuses to tell her more. But his apprehension is obvious and she does not miss it.

However, today has been a good day. So, Annabeth calms her inner turmoil and swallows her fear with a composed smile, giving Percy a playful little shove. “You’re just a Seaweed Brain. I have to do the thinking for the both of us.”

She knows that her guise is convincing when he laughs. It is a beautiful sound. 

Percy leans in and kisses her, tasting like homesickness and nostalgia as he always does. “I would rather be kissing you and not thinking of anything else at all,” he says.

She agrees.

cxxvii.

Valentine’s Day this year fell on a weekday. At night, they walk by the beach.

“You know,” Annabeth starts, speaking quietly as if she is passing a secret between just the two of them.

She is, she supposes – one can never tell when the gods are listening in. 

“Yeah?” Percy asks, peeking at her at the corner of his eye. “What is it?”

“Sometimes, I really wish that I am not a part of this.”

She doesn’t need to say what she is alluding to. They both know.

“Yeah, me too.” Percy says, and Annabeth wonders how he can possibly understand, when his divinity is all that he has ever known.

On the contrary, for Annabeth, after getting a glimpse of how things can be for her through her very human job and a more-or-less human college experience, Annabeth knows that she would do a lot to leave the gods’ world behind. She is so tired. 

Sometime along the stroll, they sit down on the sand and look at the stars, ignoring the occasional cries of civilization far in the dark. 

“I promise,” Annabeth says softly, “that I’ll try my best to protect you.” She doesn’t even know what she means by that; she just knows that she is determined to not let the Fates take him away from her.

She doesn’t turn to him, but she can tell that Percy is staring at her from the corner of her eyes.

“Thanks,” he says, and they let the sound of the crashing waves fill the silence between them.

cxxviii.

“Mortals have the luxury of choice,” he says tiredly after a while. “Gods don’t.”

“Try not to ruin the tides permanently for me,” Annabeth begs.

cxxix.

“Lord,” Annabeth hears someone say. She gingerly opens their bedroom door – Percy is sitting on their bed, facing the window. There is an Iris Message that appears in front of him, shimmering from the light that filters past the window.

“Delphin, what is it?” Percy asks the dolphin. He looks older, his voice gruffer. There is a half crooked coronet that sits atop of his head.

“Lord Poseidon says that you don’t have much time. You need to wrap up your, ahem, ‘mortal affairs’ soon. On the Ides of March, you need to act. Our King says that it is not negotiable.”

“I will be prepared by that time. Tell my father not to worry and send my worst regards to my uncle. He can —” Then Percy utters some clicking noises in a language that Annabeth isn’t privy to. 

Delphin blushes blue, nods, and scurries off. She wonders if Percy just tried to get his lieutenant to tell Zeus to go fuck himself.

Percy sighs and destroys the IM with his hand.

“You can come in, you know,” he says, and Annabeth realizes that he knows that she is there all along. 

Of course – _how could he not?_ He could have taken the call with another form, wherever his other physical manifestations may be.

Annabeth sighs softly and sits on the bed next to Percy, tracing a finger down his torso. He is looking down, sad.

She doesn’t comment on that. Instead, she brings her finger up to gently lift up his chin until they are staring eye to eye. Annabeth presses her lips on the god’s, trying to convey every ebb and flow of her worry.

When she pulls back, Annabeth reaches to fix the position of his coronet, but Percy just shakes his head lightly and the thing disappears altogether.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Yeah,” he says, and she waits. 

A beat.

“They want me to destroy Manhattan if things get bad. If it gets worse, then I’ll have to move onto the other boroughs. After that, the rest of the New York. And if that still doesn’t solve the problem, I will have to target the rest of the — You get it.” He finally tells her.

“Why? This makes no sense. Who came up with this plan?” Annabeth demands. It’s barely a plan. It sounds more like a tantrum, an allergic reaction to a problem with many other plausible solutions.

“The king wants to make a point that gods don’t need humans to thrive and live, especially in the city where the heart of our powers lay.” Percy answers.

“Why you?” She focuses her effort on understanding the proposal more thoroughly.

“Why do you think my _uncle_ had ever let me exist? This is my _job_.” He explains with exasperation and exhaustion in his voice, as if this is something he’s hashed to her many times before. He may have, but Annabeth still doesn’t think that she understands.

Though, Annabeth doesn’t need to ask Percy to clarify again. She knows what he will say. He’s made it abundantly clear last November; he is the god of loyalty, loyal _to Olympus_. She just doesn’t understand the point he is trying to make on _choice_.

Perhaps his title and obligation is as close to a fatal flaw as a god can come to one. It is a curse that Zeus has bestowed on Perseus: his services and freedom in exchange for his life. It’s a trade that Thetis and Poseidon has pleaded for.

Maybe Zeus does not want to destroy New York himself (even though he has much affinity for appearances with dramatic flair) because he understands how mortal perception works. He doesn’t want his image tainted as the king of the gods. And Annabeth can imagine that other Olympians don’t want that stain on their reputation, either. Her mother has once said, belief and reputation can be the some of the biggest weapons that exist in the world.

Annabeth didn’t quite believe it then (nor did she understand), but it was foolish for her to ever doubt the truths coming from the goddess of Wisdom.

“Why the Ides of March?” Annabeth asks, noting that it is less than a month away.

“Delphine says that the humans are going to launch a public campaign against the gods; specifically, one against me in the coming days. Zeus wants me to act before… Well, before I can’t anymore.”

“What does _that_ mean? You didn’t tell me any of this earlier.”

“I didn’t know for sure.”

“So stop the campaign. Surely there’s something that you can do. Find out who the agents are. Kill them. Bloodbend them. Or give them pneumonia: I don’t care. Or maybe you can coerce Apollo to tell you which medium will be responsible for this; he can use his foresight powers for this, right? Heck, I can even call Rachel right now, let me —” Annabeth fumbles for her phone, but Percy puts a hand out to stop her.

“I’m not omnipotent, Annabeth,” Percy says softly. “I can’t temper with human beliefs. That’s not how it works.”

“Says who?” Annabeth’s temper flares. “How _does_ it work, then? This makes _no sense_ , Percy, both you and I know it. You’re just going to sit there and watch as they attempt to destroy you, to erase you from existence? You need to _fight_. You’re just sitting here and taking it.”

Percy flinches, but he doesn’t offer more. He turns away from her, sitting still. The sunlight pours on him, illuminating his back like he is a stone statue dusted with gold. She fumes.

“And _the Mist_? What about _the Mist_? Thicken it. Snap your fingers. Make everyone who knows now forget. Help them unsee. Isn’t this what Hecate’s job is? She was fighting alongside Hazel in the last war, she can probably help —”

“She’s gone, too.” Percy says, putting a hand on her shoulder lightly.

Annabeth reels back in shock, shrugging his hand off, not even caring about the surge of shame she feels as he comforts her in this strange situation, when it should be the other way around.

“What?”

“Annabeth, they know what they are doing. These agents… They are well organized. Persephone reported Hecate’s absence a few weeks ago, but we didn’t think much of it. Then, there is this demigod, Torrington –“

“Alabaster Torrington,” Annabeth suggests, recognizing the name and feeling dread pool in her.

“Yes, Alabaster. Hermes has been keeping an eye on that one since the Second Titan War, and the agents had recently taken him. Since Hecate is missing, we can only guess that —”

“They’ve done the same to her as what they have done to Triton.” Annabeth finishes the thought and the grave look Percy gives her is enough to confirm.

It had seemed to her that Zeus had been uncharacteristically eager to deploy destruction just a moment ago, but Annabeth doesn’t think so anymore. The agents seem more than methodical and intelligent in their approach to uproot the power of the gods. If the king of the gods are afraid enough to plan for such drastic displays of power, at the cost of a population that lives in the heart of the West, then Annabeth knows that she should be fearful for the stability and welfare of _both_ of her worlds.

cxxv.

The very next week, they watch in horror as banners of _BREAKING NEWS_ splash across all the screens in the world, filling the minds of humans everywhere with the knowledge of “supernatural beings who call themselves gods”. 

It’s all about Percy, and Triton, and other deities, but the media does not package them as anything divine.

Instead, they call him a freak of nature, something to be feared, something that needs to be eliminated. There is no use of the word “god” or any other that links to benevolence.

The report include a footage of Percy bloodbending, recorded by one of the cameras that was mounted on an agent’s car. It doesn’t matter that he only rendered them unconscious, the video strongly implies that he kills them in cold blood, reinforcing his image as a ruthless murderer. The message is clear from the United Nation: a creature like him must be contained before his powers get out of control.

They are sculpting him to be a monster, a terrorist, a demon who kills government officials. Malevolent images are forcibly casted upon him.

With the onslaught of this news, some jagged scars appear on a corner of his face, stretching and writhing like snakes across his cheeks. Ugly charred red marks adorn his body, and they grow and they grow. Before her very eyes, Percy’s youthful face is withering away.

He turns away, and she calls out, “wait,” before he winks out of existence.

The god doesn’t look at her, his head hanging with shame. Her cell phone rings and buzzes, and though she sets the device to silent mode to ignore the notifications, she sees some reactions on the screen in the corner of her eye.

 _Holy shit, Annabeth, what is happening??_ – Will

 _Call me back._ – Will

 _Please, I’m worried. My dad won’t answer my prayers. Are you alright????!_ \- Will

“I don’t want you to see me like this. This is about to get so much worse, I can feel it.” He says when she reaches her hand to caress his face and to lift his chin to face her.

“What do I do, Percy? I just want to help,” Annabeth says softly.

“They are launching at attack on my image.” He states, “these people are using the common belief of the _people_ to dissolve the integrity of my being.”

She doesn’t need him to spell it out for her; it’s a phenomenon that she should have expected. She doesn’t need Rachel’s oracular powers to know.

After all, it’s an old Athenian saying: _mind over matter_.

It’s true, to some extent, for children of Athena, but it’s most definitely true for gods. Their powers are built on the foundations of worship and belief.

How the heart of the western civilization shifts from Greece all the way to the United States, how temples serve as nexuses of the gods’ power, how gods fade when their domains are reduced: it all stems from the same philosophy.

The GIW – whatever they are actually called – serves to shave any traces of divinity and purity away from Percy. It is an efficient attack and it’s already showing results.

His skin twists and convulses and she finds herself staring at a being that _looks_ to be a conglomeration of what the definition of a monster may be for mortals watching and believing this news, and she wonders if this effect influences his personality and mannerisms, too.

She closes her eyes and kisses his temple, right by a developing sore.

He sighs a little. “How can you stand me looking like this?”

“It’s just appearances, Percy. _Skin deep._ We’ll get through this.”

He still tries to turn away, but her hand is around his cheeks and she wouldn’t let him.

“Soon, depending how their beliefs sway, I will get worse. I may not even have clarity of mind anymore.” He warns her.

 _And maybe that is what Zeus wants, too_ , Annabeth thinks, but she bites down the comment.

“Don’t let your uncle have you take the full brunt of this madness. It is not fair. Don’t give him an excuse to let the mortals hurt you. Maybe you can appeal to your father about this, too.”

Percy laughs bitterly. “My father cares about me only as a matter of ego and usefulness. Triton is the heir, not me. I’ve always just been the backup, a copy and a tool that he can call for when it’s convenient. He protects me as I protect his pride. Don’t you see? This opportunity gives him a chance to be rid of the only person who can threaten his position as the true god of the seven seas.”

The acidity of those words makes Annabeth recoil internally. She has no idea that’s how Percy really feels about Poseidon. It almost rivals her own vitriol for her godly parent.

She wonders how much of this is influenced by his current condition, and how much is it of his own liberty.

“Percy,” Annabeth breathes, trying a new strategy, “I won’t give up on you no matter what. Let me help. _Please_.” _I love you._

But he blinks slowly and painfully, hard scales developing over his right eyelid; she can barely stop herself from wincing in sympathy. It’s difficult to watch and stomach.

“I don’t think you can help me this time, Annabeth. It’s something that is out of your control.”

But she’s stubborn, and a loss of control on the situation never sits well with her. She shakes her head.

“There _must_ be something that I can do,” Annabeth insists. “Wait here, let me make a few calls.”

She turns into her room to grab some drachmas, intending to call Apollo. When she returns, the couch is empty. Two stray feathers (caked with black tar) remain, and her heart beats painfully, feeling a little like Sophie from _Howl’s Moving Castle_.

**A/N: Hey, you know what means a lot to me? REVIEWS mean a lot to me.**

**The engagement with this fic substantially decreased in the past month or so, and I know everyone is busy with the new school year, but your thoughts and your words mean the whole world to me! Seriously. I've been cooped in a basement for like, _7_ months at this point (and can't go anywhere bc my lungs suck), so anything you say will bring a smile to my face. Please drop by if you enjoyed, and please come say hi to me via my[ Discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) (where there are more art & snippets for the fic & some other pjo shenanigans.) Thanks!**


	26. do not go gentle (into that goodnight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i got pretty philosophical about truth and belief in this one
> 
> can you believe that it's already november? happy belated halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short hiatus. Early Oct, one of my friends passed from an accident. It has been another tough month afterwards, but it's getting better. Time helps; it always does, but somethings are tougher to get over than others. I got a therapist since a couple of months ago, and she asked me what my primary emotion is (because anger, what I felt a lot in the past few months, is a secondary emotion.) I think it's loneliness. I know lots of people are feeling that way lately, too; if you want to ever talk, I'm here for you.

"All along it was a fever

A cold sweat, hot headed believer

I threw my hands in the air, said, 'Show me something'

He said, 'If you dare, come a little closer'"

~ _Stay_ by Rihanna

* * *

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cxxvi.

It doesn’t take much effort to make a rainbow out of the shower, but it _is_ a whole lot harder for Annabeth to get the attention of her friends than she initially expected.

Silence greets her, too, when she asks Iris for Apollo. Like Will mentioned, the sun god chooses to stay silent.

Annabeth doesn’t want to waste the coin, so she tries for Will next, and then Nico. Then, when Iris prompts her for another drachma for all the trouble, Annabeth feels too ashamed to continue anyway.

If she wanted to speak with Piper, or Hazel, or Frank, and maybe even Katie or Travis, then the daughter of Athena should have made a better effort to check in on Leo much earlier. Aside from a call to Piper a few days after their quest in Boston, Annabeth had not made the effort to follow up.

It wasn’t that Annabeth had forgotten; in fact, she thought about it more than a few times during the months since. It was just that she got caught in enjoying her time with Percy and pretending everything was normal in the fall. By the time she returns from Alaska, Annabeth is not in a good headspace anymore. She can’t afford to worry about anything other than the predicament she and Percy ended up in.

A nagging voice at the back of her mind begs her to stop making excuses for herself again and again.

Annabeth shakes her head. Everything always feels too little and too late. Maybe that’s why when something severe and difficult happens to her, she has no one to turn to anymore.

_In the end, she probably deserves it._

The doorbell rings, startling Annabeth out of the pity party she is throwing for herself.

“Hello?” she asks.

“Annabeth!” The man by the door exclaims. It is her father.

Annabeth fixes her shirt and opens the door warily, feeling guilty when her mind goes immediately to Percy, hoping that he doesn’t choose to drop by their apartment anytime in the next hour or so. Frederick Chase does not have the faintest idea regarding who the sea god is to her. She intends to keep it that way.

It’s easier when her father is shielded from things like this.

“Hey! You’re… Here!” Annabeth trails off awkwardly. Her father stands by the door still, and she shepherds him in her living room. The daughter of Athena bites down her comment on the fact that she hasn’t been expecting him, and offers, “do you want anything to drink? Tea?”

“I’m alright,” her father says, but Annabeth heads to the stove to boil some water anyway so she can avoid making eye contact with him. Annabeth can also sense that her father is trying to train his gaze on just her instead of surveying her apartment. With a jolt, Annabeth realizes that it is the first time that he has seen her apartment. She has never invited him over.

That’s just more guilt for her to swallow down.

Annabeth tries to focus on something else. It’s easier to think about her things that are strewn half-haphazardly around the space instead; her father has always been a tidy man. He likes to keep his living space impeccable. Annabeth usually does, too, but the recent events had made cleaning one of the last things on her mind. She is sure that there are clothing – both hers and Percy’s – left around on her furniture. _Gods_. She prays that her father doesn’t comment on that.

“How are you doing?” Annabeth asks. Translation: _why are you here?_

“I’m good. Didn’t have to head to West Point today so I thought to swing by. See if you are alright after that, _er_ , quest.”

There is a slight urge for her to throw some vitriolic words at her father, questioning why he starts to care _now_ out of all the times he could have given a shit about her wellbeing, but Annabeth’s throat burns and she can’t get anything out. Instead, she switches her stove off, walks over to the couch where her father is sitting, and cries into his shoulder.

Frederick Chase awkwardly wraps an arm around his daughter in an attempt to comfort her. He pats her back. Annabeth wonders if a younger version of her would ever let her father soothe her like this.

She would have probably been too prideful to go along with something like this. A younger version of Annabeth Chase probably would have blocked all attempts and efforts of comfort from her father in a false show of strength and dignity.

Instead, this Annabeth appreciates it. She sighs in relief. It’s nice to have someone who cares for her. It’s nice to have someone else other than Percy; comfort and assurance is more than welcomed, even when unexpected.

cxxvii.

Annabeth had tried to consult experts after seeing the damage of what Percy’s withering reputation had inflicted upon him: she attempted to speak to professionals in public relations and called up old classmates from Harvard who have powerful families that she can pull for a favor or two – but the threshold for virality has been long passed for the news about him and there is no conceivable way that she can pull this knowledge away from the general public in a world where the internet is readily accessible anywhere and everywhere.

Gods cannot interfere with anything that has an adherence to belief; maybe this is why there is no deity for the Internet, press, or print.

They’ve painted Perseus and “his kind” as abhorrent freaks. There is no acknowledgement of their existence as gods, no nod to their divinity. Their visage in the public can be summarized as “monsters that are too powerful to understand”; some shoddy montages on how these beings can serve as proxies to human sufferings are already enough for the mortals to readily denounce the gods with vitriol.

That’s how the wildfire of reputation starts: it does not matter what is the _veritas_ of things, people want to see what they have already predetermined in their mind. They think themselves to be clever, uncovering things and connecting threads, even when it is so irrevocably wrong, even if the cost is much too high for the accused to bear.

At the end, people just want to stick their pitchforks where others do so that they can gain validation from each other. Who the fuck cares about actual facts? You don’t make friends with _truth_ in a mob.

“Gods damn it!” Annabeth screams into her pillow, exhausted. Perhaps Percy has been called to Olympus for yet another meeting; perhaps this is the one where Zeus ask the Destroyer to deploy the nuclear option for all of New York.

She doesn’t support it, but what can a mortal daughter of Athena say or do?

There is no more decisions she can make or actions she can do to amend things. She can try to stop the destruction of New York, but does she want to gamble with Percy’s safety? His existence? His place among the gods?

Her mother issued a warning once: do not throw away the world for just one person; even the wistfulness of a right decision can be dangerous. At the time, the daughter of Athena thought that it was silly. Why did her mother tell her this when she’s always felt that the choice would be so obvious? After all, her _fatal flaw_ is hubris, not loyalty. Annabeth just have to not be caught up thinking that she can save everyone and everything without sacrifice and consequences. But that is hardly a concern anyways: she is not naïve; Annabeth knew that everything has a price since she was very, very little.

But it seems that, perhaps, Athena wasn’t referring to the Titan war or that war against Gaea when the goddess warned Annabeth. Perhaps Athena could see that, one day, Annabeth would find love, and with it, an inability to sacrifice that love for the sanctity of the world.

Maybe Annabeth is reading too much into everything. What can she do but to stand by and watch? This shouldn’t be her burden. The mortals should be accountable for what they are bringing upon themselves. Haven’t the humans been warned that they are playing with things that they don’t understand? Haven’t these humans been warned against their arrogance, thinking that they can control the unknown? This attitude has been the downfall of many through the ages; it is the very definition of what hubris is.

“It’s not fucking fair,” Annabeth mutters, thinking through her options and stepping into steaming hot water in a feeble attempt to wash away her stress.

Annabeth is truly out of her depth. Maybe she has been all her life, but she’s been too blind in her arrogance to realize the truth until now. 

She punches the ceramic tiles that lined her bathroom, not reserving any strength. The wall breaks and some of those shards cut her hand, but Annabeth welcomes the pain. At least that’s something she can control.

 _Get a fucking grip_ , Annabeth tells herself. Why is she already grieving? Where is the fight? Where is the vigor? Life is never fair, hasn’t she learned this by now?

Annabeth cries, and she pounds the wall again, but with less strength this time. The universe takes and it takes and it takes. It wants to consume all that she has ever had, and she’s always let it take from her.

How should this time be any different? Even if she has any energy in her for a fight, how can anyone fight this? It’s not a specific monster or an evil being, it’s an abstract image, a public perception, that the mortals are clever enough to leverage against the gods’ world this time.

Even her mother doesn’t have a better idea other than letting Percy burn himself away. So how can Annabeth be expected to fight Fate?

cxxviii.

They’ve already fought about this many times. He’d just argue that _maintaining the integrity of Olympus_ (whatever the fuck that means) is his job and what he’s made for, and she doesn’t understand if he truly believes in that or if it is something that he just _wants_ to believe because there is no other choice.

The sea god alludes to the oath he made on Styx: he lives to serve Zeus to protect the image of the gods. While he is not _that_ afraid of consequences for foregoing a promise he’s made on Styx, Percy is afraid of what other gods can do to her if he does not obey.

It all sounds like some self-sacrificial bullshit to Annabeth.

More than that, it sounds like Percy is playing right into Zeus’ hands, whether he is conscious of that or not. _Doesn’t he see?_ This is Zeus’ opportunity to get rid of his nephew, a god prophesized to be definitively stronger than any other gods but Zeus.

Why has Percy given up on the fight before it even began? Annabeth wants to protect him, but there is just so little she can do.

“They need to respect you. Not fear you, or hate you.”

“Annabeth, don’t get me wrong, I want to find an alternative to this as much as you do. But how can I do that, when I may not even have a sound mind, eventually? Would you rather me be _vile_ and do this to prevent future drama, or would you prefer the mortals to continue until Zeus himself does something about it? You know that he won’t just stop at New York. He won’t be merciful.”

“And you are?” she asks, but he doesn’t answer.

cxxix.

Gods are self-determinant creatures.

It’s almost like he’s resigned to the superimposed ideal that he is an antagonist of the world, so Percy is shaping himself to become one.

The coasts of Japan were destroyed by a tsunami and a powerful earthquake struck San Francisco.

The media hasn’t made the connection that the sea god is the culprit, but she knows. Annabeth can feel his involvement in these natural disasters.

In the following three weeks, his mood is cyclical.

On good days, there is nothing she can perceive that is amiss with her boyfriend. Percy is cheery and bubbly and wants to take her to the beach. They kiss and they touch each other and he lights up her world when she returns from work.

On bad days, he isn’t even of sound enough mind to ask her for help anymore. Perseus whimpers in their bed or on their couch, and she tries her best to take care of him, to feed him ambrosia whenever appropriate. His form flickers and twists and changes to something abhorrent; and though she hates to admit it, the god has scared her several times.

His appearance occasionally twists to ones of disease; sometimes he leaves and hides in the ocean, but other times, when she insists that it’s alright, Perseus traps himself in the closet or hides under her blanket, telling her that he’s too ashamed to show her what he looks like.

The sea god wants to shield her away from his being, citing that he is afraid that he will lose control and hurt her. She tries her best to keep him with her, but Annabeth can tell that it’s been challenging for the both of them.

Seeing how mortals tear into his being mercilessly and thoughtlessly, Annabeth Chase is just understanding the true nature of gods and men for the first time.

cxxv.

“Percy, don’t go,” she says one night when she thinks that he is asleep.

“Are you prepared for who I really am?” He asks, his eyes glowing slightly in the dark. Annabeth doesn’t have a good answer for that.

**A/N: _VOTE._ If you're eligible to vote in the US General, please do. **

**Thanks for sticking with me & commenting on the fic, by the way. It really means a lot. I like hearing about your reactions / feelings / thoughts. BTW, I was told that there's been some issues w/ AO3's subscription system. So please let me know if you're not getting the updates through your email! **

**ALSO, I'm printing a copy of this for shenanigans. Gimme some "reviewer quotes" so I can stuff it on the back of the book!**


	27. funny you're the broken one (but i'm the only one who needed saving)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you know the songs "two slow dancers" by mitski and "i'm with you" by vance joy then you should have a good idea for where this chapter is going 
> 
> it's like the usual w/ more build-up & things but i tried to make it sweet  
> also this chapter should give you some answers about where this au came from

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *american flag emoji reaccs only*

"It would be a hundred times easier

If we were young again

But as it is

And it is

We’re just two slow dancers, last ones out

We’re two slow dancers, last ones out"

~ _Two Slow Dancers_ by Mitski

* * *

cxxxi.

On the fourteenth of March, he takes her to an empty Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, and they dance together.

If it were some months ago, Annabeth would have gaped in awe at the beautiful architecture, eagerly telling Percy all about the palace’s history. The daughter of Athena would be shocked but delighted that she has the chance to dance with someone she loves in such a historic place, the world and its futures spread out before them, ripe for her taking.

Instead, now it feels bitter, brimmed with limitations. The two of them matches each other’s steps and moves slowly. Their copies stare back from the mirrors and the windows, taunting the two with hundreds and thousands of alternate possibilities and worlds, ones where they are happier, where this doesn’t feel like goodbye.

“I didn’t know you can dance.” Annabeth mutters into his shoulder, secretly glad that she’s paid attention in the few ballroom dance classes Cameron dragged her to during college.

“There’s a lot of things I can do that you don’t quite know about yet,” a thin smile curls on Percy’s lips. “I just wish that I have the time to teach all of them to you.” He leans down and kisses her tenderly.

The setting sun’s rays hit Percy’s hair at just the right angle, and once again, Annabeth admires how ethereal he looks. Whatever effects the mortal’s belief has on him be damned; he looks just as divine as she has ever seen him.

Another twirl and she see the trees far off through the windows; she remembers their date in Paris, back in late August. It’s almost seven months ago, now. That seems so close and so far, all at the same time.

 _Must it be so sad?_ Annabeth thinks in her head, trying to enjoy herself and push down the sense of loss that begins to overwhelm and take root in her heart.

Percy twirls her, and she spins, catching glimpses of the couple that is reflected back to her in the glass. The image reminds her of a song about two slow dancers in a school gymnasium.

She just wonders who would be the last one out.

cxxxii.

“Annabeth, remember what I told you about my dream with the Fates?” Percy asks mid-step.

“Yes,” she replies. “Why does this matter now?”

“The middle one wove these really big socks – one blue, one gray. They belong to the same pair. But the Fate on the left unraveled the blue one, mine, and they dipped it in gold. Then she weave that into a sock again.”

“What?” She asks, thinking that this is just a random story. However, Percy looks completely serious.

“They said something else to me, too.”

“What did they say?”

“They said, ‘there is no answer, but Annabeth Chase is the answer.’”

Annabeth likes riddles, and she is quite sure that this is one issued by the Fates themselves. It’s annoying: lately, there just has been too many problems for her to solve, too many layers for her to uncover. While the sentiment is sweet, the quote is yet another puzzle piece she cannot fit in.

All Annabeth wants is to understand the significance of what Percy is trying to convey. That’s the problem with this half of her world; some significance can only be realized when the right events come to pass.

All the daughter of Athena knows, for now, is that there is a reason that there are three Fates, not one. There’s a reason why they orchestrated for her and Percy to be who they are in this world; they are the only ones who can fix this.

cxxxiii.

“It’s just interesting,” he starts after they put the pie in the oven together when they get back to her apartment, “I didn’t expect to meet you now, you know? Before this, I’ve been trying to find you for a long time.”

“A long time,” Annabeth echoes.

“Yes,” Percy smiles softly. “I was so convinced that I would find you soon, years after years – I saw you first over three and a half thousand years ago. When my mother dipped me into the Styx like she did with my brother.”

“You saw me?”

“I thought you were so pretty. You offered your hand to me; you told me to take it.” He says, thinks, and then adds, “you also said I was an idiot.”

He laughs, stroking her check slightly with his thumb before taking a piece of her curls in his fingers, thinking, remembering.

“I gave up after a few centuries, knowing that it wasn’t time yet. When I heard your name that night at the bar, Annabeth Chase… I thought it sounded familiar, but I didn’t make the full connection of who you really are until I saw you with that shirt from Camp Half-Blood.” A distant look enters his eyes. He takes a half-step back with an unhappy frown.

“Well, now you have me. We can go to Alaska, away from any and everyone else,” Annabeth jokes, half-serious. It’s an easy way out. Maybe no one can ever bother them again there.

Percy sighs and shifts his gaze back to meet hers. “You know I can’t, Annabeth. But no matter what, I am so lucky to find you. I just wish that I found you sooner. What horrible timing, right?”

“Over three and a half millennia for seven months together. Is it worth it?” Annabeth turns to look at the oven intensely; she doesn’t want him to see her tear up. She looks at the pie, its crust not yet golden brown, slowly rising, rising, and wonders if this is the last time they get to bake together. 

She thinks to November, a season ago now, and to the bliss she feels when they finally became intimate for the first time. Annabeth would give a lot to go back to then; now, she just feels a profound sense of loss for the future that they’d probably never get to build together. 

“If I recall correctly, I bumped into you last year in March for the first time. It’s been a full year now,” he says. Annabeth doesn’t realize that he’s been keeping count. “But to your question… Yes. Yes it is. I just wish that we have forever. But if we can’t have forever, well… I would take a year with you over a lifetime with anybody else. You made me feel like I’m not just _existing_ ; that’s the greatest gift I’ll ever receive. Not a lot of gods have the luxury to experience that.”

Annabeth wants to tell him that she loves him, and she thinks she finally has the courage to now, but she doesn’t want to have that serve as a distraction.

He needs to focus for what comes next. Annabeth can’t stand it if she causes him anymore harm. So she keeps quiet.

Instead, she touches the slip of paper in her pocket, feeling the grainy texture on her hand. Annabeth just wishes that one day, she’ll have the chance to share this dream with him. 

cxxxiv.

Percy jokes about how they would want to spend the next Pi Day together, and how blueberry might be a better fruit to use than apple the next time around.

“But it doesn’t matter anyway,” Annabeth says bitterly. “They still expect you to burn yourself away, to stop whatever this is. At any costs.”

“Yeah,” he says, “it’s just not that productive to hash over that again now.”

She kisses him. They try to make conversation again, and this time, Annabeth deliberately avoids broaching anything that hints at her displeasure for what Percy is tasked to do soon.

Maybe it’ll be okay. It’ll probably be okay. They’ve been through so much now, and he can leverage all the power in the world, only second to Zeus, right?

Maybe she’s just projecting her apprehension unnecessarily.

Shortly before midnight, they go to bed together; Annabeth keeps turning and shifting from all that anxiety, but Percy never complains. Eventually, her eyes close and she drifts into an uneasy sleep. 

cxxxv.

In her dream, some sunlight filters through her curtains, illuminating the two of them on their bed, providing them with some warmth.

It felt like a day in November, when they fell asleep sometime around one in the afternoon just to escape the sun.

Annabeth blinks.

She can sense that she is in a false universe, where Percy is mortal, with Sally Jackson as his mother. They went to college _together_ in New Rome.

If her dream last time was what would have been, this one shows what _could_ have been. It shows her their future after many successful quests in the past.

It shows her that, by the time that these alternate versions of them reach her age, they are already getting ready to welcome their first child into the world. A boy named Everett.

He has black hair like his father, but her grey eyes. Everett’s laugh is carefree and light; he grows up with apt protection, happy and healthy. Three years later, they have a little girl named Sophie who has blonde hair and intelligent sea green eyes.

The four of them makes a beautiful family.

Annabeth watches on the alternate version of her life with envy and jealousy, but she is proud of them for making it this far. The vignettes of the family plays in her mind: she sees them meeting up with Piper’s family, and with Hazel’s and Frank’s family. They keep in touch with other friends from Camp and New Rome, too. Unlike this Annabeth, that Annabeth is a confident and welcoming leader who other people admire and love and care for.

She, too, had scars from her childhood, but they had been mended over through years of stable friendship with Percy. He’s there every step of the way, supporting her, lifting her up. In San Francisco, where she was once kidnapped to hold the sky, he told her to give her mortal family another try. As a result, this alternate version of her had an amicable relationship with her mortal family by the time she was an adult; it’s a stark difference from her own circumstance.

More than strengthened friendship and familial relations, that Annabeth gets to grow old with Percy, the perfect team until the very end. They would be ancient and frail one day, but there’s never doubt that one would be without the other.

They could be _together_ and _happy_ and _forever_.

Annabeth almost folds herself in this reality when she wakes up alone, eyes full of tears. Rain pours outside. It is storming on the Ides of March.

**A/N: Did you understand what's the deal w/ all the deja vu & the Fates & how this AU came to be now? If it's not clear, please let me know -- I didn't want to be overly descriptive.**

**A few good (that's questionable) reads if you like this story (aka other stuff that I wrote & would recommend):**

####  [tabula rasa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003897) \- an one-shot (15k) of a campswap au (percy is roman, and he stumbles into chb right after tlo)

####  [when i was older, i was a sailor (on an open sea)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920621) \- a quick one-shot (1.6k) of another god!percy au

####  [The Song of Perseus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995621) \- tlt rewrite (1.4k with more to come) if it's more grounded in realistic portrayals of greek mythology

honorary mentions include _being human_ (a pjo / danny phantom crossover), _sub rosa_ (where i dump my royal au & other snippets), the _wonderwall series_ (writing isn't as good because i wrote it 7 years ago, but it's the first iteration of ylml & a good 100k words), and of course, all the works by various authors inspired by this fic (links below!)


	28. and if you're still bleeding (you're the lucky ones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's an epic chapter. just read it. you've followed along for this many months now -- so, trust me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are three fates. one spun the universe we were all familiar with: the one in the original PJO series. one spun this one -- where percy's a god and annabeth's a mortal. one of the fates had to unravel percy's 'sock' and made him divine because they knew this mortal perception problem would have popped up and only he (as a god) & annabeth (still as a demigod) can address it, together. the last fate -- i don't think i'll reveal what kind of alternate universe she creates, but percy and annabeth finds each other in that one, too.
> 
> no matter where they are, who they are, or what they are, they always find each other in the end.

"My heart has lost its wind now

Broken like a dead sail

My love has drifted out to sea "

~ _Where We Went Wrong_ by The Hush Sounds

* * *

**_For Rob. Your vision will not be forgotten. ([link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJyUtbn0O5Y) & [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrS2uROUjK4&feature=emb_title) to the animation he & his husband created, with 2.5M & 1.2M views respectively, for students in biology. thank you from all of us, for changing the world.)_ **

cxxxvi.

Maybe they both are not people who’d like to cry and hold each other, lamenting the inevitable, but in the absence of a goodbye, things feel abrupt and uneven. 

They fell asleep together, as they tend to, and he left so much without a single word. 

Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he doesn’t say anything because it’s not a goodbye -– but how can anything be the same again after he commits such devastation against New York?

New York… It’s her home. It’s where she is working, where Will is from, where she spent many of her past years commuting to and from for her job as the official architect of Olympus. It is where she made all those memories with a green-eyed god.

Annabeth is not ready to have those all washed away so soon. 

Something must have happened early morning that she isn’t privy to, and then she _sees_ thousands of messages started pouring in on her phone, and a very, very clear image of her kissing Percy in an yet another article decorated with a bright red _BREAKING NEWS_ banner.

She does the next logical thing. Annabeth waits for the phone to ring.

“He’s a god,” it’s her father’s voice.

“Yes,” Annabeth doesn’t question how her father knows. The daughter of Athena knows she should have given her father’s intelligence more credit; after all, he is the one who attracted the favor of the goddess of wisdom.

“Annabeth, you can’t do this,” he asserts.

“I chose this.” she says.

“Annabeth, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Dad, that’s not the point. What you need to do is to get the hell out of here. I should have told you sooner, I just didn’t think he’d actually —” Annabeth shakes her head to stop herself from rambling, “promise me that you’ll get out of Manhattan. Right now.”

“Why?”

“Just promise me.”

“I promise, but —”

Annabeth doesn’t let her father finish and hangs up.

Then, she sends one last text.

*

 _Will, get Nico to evacuate any and every one you care about from Manhattan at once. Right now._ \- Annabeth

 _?_ \- Will

 _Just do it. Please._ \- Annabeth

cxxxvii.

The wind blows aggressively through her blonde curls, depositing bitter salts in her hair. She can barely see past a few feet in front of her, but she hears the ocean roar to her right. The waves are agitated, the riptides slapping and thrashing against the rock with rigor.

“You promised,” Annabeth yells, sure that he can hear her despite the high whining pitches of the storm. “Sworn on Styx. You told me that you’d never hurt me.”

For a second, she thinks that she can see the air in front of her condense, as if the god is edging to appear to argue in his defense; but that mirage evaporates quickly and the silence stretches on in front of her. Still and deafening.

“Perseus,” Annabeth summons. “You can’t do this.”

“Who are you to tell me what I _can_ or _cannot_ do?” He scoffs, strolling casually next to her as if he has been there all along. Annabeth clutches her jacket tighter around her to defend herself against the worsening hurricane.

He is unaffected by the harsh environment, stance relaxed, as if he exists in a vacuum and the surrounding is just a quiet afternoon in the park. He rolls his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“So?” Annabeth cries. “Why are you doing this?” She lets go of her jacket. Annabeth marches until she is in front of him, arms stretched wide.

She thinks about how much she loves this boy in front of her but memories catch up to her and she realizes who he is, now. 

He isn’t a boy, never has been. He is a god. 

“Move,” he says. His eyes are glowing; she can’t see his pupil anymore.

“No,” she says, “never. You’re going to _kill_ me first. I am _not_ giving up on you.”

But the time has passed for that decision. They have given up long ago; they never even tried. It doesn’t matter anymore –- it’s too late for Annabeth to finally take a stance.

The sea god growls in impatience, and for the first time, Annabeth is afraid of him. She knows that he feels this fear. Maybe this is what he feeds on now.

Perseus looks the same but his essence feels different. It’s like the usual song but the chords are all wrong.

“We talked about this.”

“I know. Percy, please.”

“I thought you understood. And, my name is Perseus. My purpose is to destroy.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this.”

He laughs. “I am a monster, haven’t you heard? I’m just doing what they are prescribing me to.”

“They are wrong. You are not a monster, that’s just what they want to think you are. I know what you are, Percy, I l—”

He teleports her away and she watches in horror as water rushes in.

“I love you.” She says to an empty room, but it’s too late.

The ocean starts to burn.

cxxxviii.

 _Annabeth, what exactly did the gods task Perseus to do?_ \- Will

She doesn’t have a good answer.

 _What do you mean? ­_ – Annabeth

 _Turn on the TV._ \- Will

cxxxix.

Holding her breath, Annabeth opens the television. She sees a wall of water building, building, building. It must be fifty, sixty stories tall.

The water’s shadow is so vast that the entirety of Wall Street is covered with darkness. Everyone is running, screaming, panicking.

In the distance, there is a hundred feet tall version of Percy. He is waist deep in the water, looking on impassively. 

Annabeth could see some mortal military attempting to move closer to him, but any efforts are swallowed easily by the turbulent waves.

In a display of power, the god raises his hand and another tsunami comes to life, roaring and swallowing the Brooklyn bridge with ease. Annabeth hopes that there are no more cars and passengers lingering on that bridge.

Vaguely, she sees the far side of the river, where Brooklyn is. The bench by the East River where they once sat and spent so much time together, talking, chatting, laughing, and eating cake, is all swept away. 

Perseus doesn’t seem to care or see. Annabeth knows that the water is held by nothing but his will. Millions of lives hang on that thread.

She is sure that countless humans are terrified and fearful of him, finally understanding that he is a god and has the power of a god. This doesn’t diminish the claim of him as a “monster” in their eyes; she can still see that belief reflected in some regards of his appearance and attitude.

 _Perseus, please don’t do this,_ Annabeth prays. _If I have ever meant anything to you in this world, please don’t do this to my New York._

There is no acknowledgement that he hears her. Her heart twists.

 _Please,_ Annabeth prays, _remember what I said about reputation. Give these mortals a chance. Trust me._

Perseus laughs and it is a booming sound. Annabeth could have sworn that the vibrations from that reach her all the way to her in her apartment in Midtown. The laugh felt like it was directly aimed at her, cold and unrelenting.

Annabeth is afraid, and she feels the fear seeping through her bones. She wants to issue a harsher ultimatum to Perseus, but what good would that do? Why would he listen to her, yet another a mortal who begs a god for undeserved mercy?

The waves of water keeps rising, and she can see it directly from her bedroom window, even though it is far in the distance.

“Maybe just my plea is not enough, but think about who else is here in Manhattan. You need to give them a chance. Will and Naomi Solace live here. My mortal family is right outside of the city.” Annabeth continues as something clicks; realization nearly drowns her. “Sally Jackson, your _mother_ in another life; she lives here too. She has a family in Paul and Estelle; don’t you want her to survive?” She speaks, knowing that he hears.

The rising waves halt. Annabeth knows that her prayer must be resonating with the sea god. From her television, he remains stoic in his nearly monstrous, snarling features, but the corner of his mouth grimaces.

“Seven days,” he booms in her mind, and she is sure that others in the city can hear that, too. Evacuation will be hard, since all ground exits are blocked by water (and it seems like the sea god is holding the water levels high as the promise of a threat), but Annabeth knows what this means. Percy is giving them a chance even though he is offending Zeus by doing so.

Percy is still there somewhere, still trying. She just needs to figure out what to do to save his reputation.

cxl.

Six days pass, and Annabeth does not see him in the interim.

No human has, but she hasn’t heard about him from her contacts in the godly world, either. Where is he? Is Zeus punishing him for the delay of destruction, seeing that as a display of disrespect?

The humans in the city scrambles, and the government is hard pressed on providing aerial transport for everyone. Annabeth, however, is staying until the end. No one was able to bother her as long as she stayed within her apartment, and she’s switched her cell phone off long ago to avoid the onslaughts of messages, many including demands from the government and the media.

All she knows is that she is grateful that her father heeded her warning to take her mortal family out of the city limits, and Will was able to employ Nico to help transport his mother and some of their possessions out of Manhattan to his mortal grandmother’s home in Texas.

Annabeth wonders where Sally, Estelle, and Paul are; she hopes that they are okay. She trusts that Percy would see to that.

As for Annabeth: she has always known that Solstices are the extremes, but equinoxes are the true tipping points. This is when things go from one end of the spectrum to another, when things transition, when _choices_ should be made.

Six days since the Ides of March, she finally understands what she has to do. Annabeth just isn’t quite sure as to this is what she wants to choose for herself, yet.

“You are a foolish girl.”

“Mother,” Annabeth acknowledges evenly, “what brings you here?”

“What you are about to do is thoughtless. You are throwing your life away. I am warning you.”

“You can’t stop me. I know Zeus gave orders to not interfere.”

Athena’s nostrils flared. “I am only here because I care for you; you found the statue. I would not have given similar favors to my other children.”

 _You are supposed to love all your children equally,_ Annabeth wants to say, but she doesn’t. There’s nothing in the ancient rules that says that Athena cannot smite her for insolence instead, and she is better served expressing this frustration elsewhere. 

Annabeth composes herself, squeezing a smile out, painfully, “I appreciate the concern, _mother_ , but I need to do this. With respect, of course.”

Athena sets her jaw, her expression stern. She gives Annabeth one last look, knowing that there is no use for her to argue against her daughter, either. 

“What did you think would happen,” Athena spits, “for a god to be with a mortal? Surely not a happy ending.”

She twists and disappears into the air, leaving images of startling grey eyes in Annabeth’s mind.

**Thank you for reading -- as per usual, please drop me a note if you've enjoyed the chapter. We only have 2 more to go.**


	29. invite you to stay (and take away the pain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to my wonderful readers:  
> sorry about the ending  
> well, no, not really. HAHAHAHAHA.  
> but seriously, i love you guys
> 
> (RR said it in HoH, so I get to, too.)

"I tried to do my best

But you know that I'm not perfect

I been praying for forgiveness

You've been praying for my health

When I leave this Earth

Hoping you'll find someone else "

~ _death bed (coffee for your head)_ by Powfu, Beabadoobee

* * *

cxli.

She thinks that she sees Janus out of the corner of her eye, but when Annabeth turns, she realizes that it’s just her own reflection caught on the mirror.

 _Choose_ , the reflection seems to taunt her. _Choose._

cxlii.

Annabeth Chase draws in a sharp breath and strengthens her resolve as she marches towards the throne room. It feels a little like she is signing her own death warrant.

She is just glad that Hera is not there to see it.

“Zeus,” she speaks, kneeling in front of the king of the gods. There are no others in the throne room.

“Daughter of Athena,” he acknowledges evenly. “Why are you here?”

Annabeth doesn’t dare to raise her eyes to look at the king of the gods.

“My lord,” she begins, “I would like to have you reconsider your request for Perc— Perseus.” She nearly let his nickname slip.

“Oh?” Zeus replies, bored. “And why should I do that? You’ve already been the cause for a delay. I was hoping to make an example out of the humans in Manhattan. It’s been a disappointment, but lucky for you, it was still a net gain for us. They _believe_ now. This new sense of fear and reverence has been, admittedly, quite satisfying to take in.”

Annabeth can care less whether humans believe in Greek gods or now.

 _Reconsider your request for him to be a Destroyer because I love him. If the gods destroy humans and cities like how you intend to, then there is not much difference among the gods, the Titans, the Primordial Giants, or the Triumvirate._ Annabeth bites her tongue; she needs to give Zeus a response that he won’t take offense to. “Reconsider because Perseus is an asset that you have, that Olympus has; he is the god of loyalty, he will never betray Olympus. His Roman name is _Ilius_ , named after your Roman form. He is pledged to you by Poseidon and Thetis. Sending him to his demise and letting human belief tear him apart is not wise.”

“Not wise,” Zeus muses, “you sound like your mother, girl.”

Annabeth isn’t sure whether she should take that as a compliment. At least the king of the gods is amused. Still, this alarms her. The last time she’s heard anyone call Zeus or Jupiter “unwise” with her own ears had been towards the end of the war against Gaea.

Jason said those words, and she still wonders sometime if that had contributed towards his ultimate death. Surely Jupiter could forgive his son for that slight?

Annabeth hopes that this won’t be the death of her, but it hardly matters anymore.

“My lord,” the daughter of Athena presses, “please be merciful. New York needs not to suffer.”

Zeus laughs. “Are you concerned for the mortals? They trifled with things that they don’t understand. For the past millenniums we had been merciful. We had endured their ignorance, their blasphemous and sanctimonious insults to our Parthenon. You are suggesting that we ignore this insult once again, when they have devised a plan to kill some of our own? You are foolish if that is the case; your mother would agree so.”

Annabeth ignores the stabs of pain she feels on her side at the mention of Athena.

“Sir, I just think that it is not prudent to —” The air fills with static; Annabeth understands that she is treading in dangerous waters. “My apologies; I mean to say that I just think that perhaps Perseus ought to be given a choice in this matter. He has intimidated these humans into belief; they understand the powers that are at play with now. This is the ultimate objective of your task for Perseus, is it not?”

“The threat of destruction and actual destruction are two different things. They will forget, with time, and we will be forced to act again. The boldness of men knows no bounds; if you really wanted to blame someone, you should blame Prometheus for giving humans fire all those years ago.”

“The humans will want to see his destruction. Surely, showing mercy is not a sign of weakness. The mortals will be grateful. Percy will be grateful; he will owe you.”

“It’s too late for him anyways; the humans have ruined his reputation. He will not be able to rescue his image and return to his former being.”

“Just give him a choice.”

“I don’t see how I can offer him a choice, child.” Zeus says after a second. “Gods and duties are not as simple as you perceive. Destruction has always been a part of him; this is what he was born to do. Did you think that gods ever had a choice in destiny? No, that is the Fates’ work. You have come to the wrong deity.”

“But —” Urgency starts to seize Annabeth’s heart. She was just beginning to think that her audience with Zeus is going well.

Zeus doesn’t let her finish her protest. “— If anyone has a choice in their will, it is you. Isn’t that why you have refused our gift to you? If you can rescue his reputation, then I shall not force him to become the Destroyer he is destined to be. But at that point, the will is not mine anymore. It is the Fates’.”

cxliii.

The mortals need to see that Perseus is capable of love, even if this means that Annabeth has to throw any remaining normal semblances of life away for him. Annabeth chooses him; whether she likes it or not, she has made this choice a long time ago.

She dials.

“Hello? This is operator Michelle Chang from the Central Intelligence Agency; this phone call may be recorded for quality assurance and training purposes. How may I help you today?”

“Hi Michelle, I have a tip about Perseus.”

“What is your name?”

“Annabeth Chase.” 

Annabeth winces as the sound of some fumbling and loud clacking that sounds from the other end of the line.

"Um, please hold.” The operator says, and she waits.

Some horrible music plays, and Annabeth is reminded of all that elevator music at the Empire State Building, wondering if she’ll get to hear it again after today. 

"It’s you,” The line resumes, and a rough voice grinds out at her.

"Who is this?”

“Agent Padolski from the Division of Supernatural Affairs. Smart of you to contact us. So, Miss Chase, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

cxliv.

As it turns out, even the mortal team of security guards responsible for the safety of the Empire State Building has been discharged. It reminds her a little of the ghost town Manhattan was when everyone fell asleep during the Battle, eight years ago. It’s eerily quiet, and no one questions her when she walks past the desk, straight to the elevator. 

For once, she’s not heading to Olympus.

Instead, she’s heading for the deck on the 102nd floor, with explicit instructions she received for accessing the roof from that level.

The wind blows furiously at that height, and she’s terrified. She can almost hear _him_ laugh in her mind, but Annabeth is sure that any hints of that are just hallucinations. 

Annabeth shakes her head; she has to do this. There is no other choice.

Biting her lip, Annabeth hoists herself through the entrance and climbs the ladder. She tries to steady herself, reaching and moving rung by rung. _She can do this. The daughter of Athena is good at monkey bars and she knows it._

Still, it’s dangerous, and a misstep means that she will plummet to her death. It’s no different than what will happen in some minutes later anyway, but a premature death without performance is a waste of a golden opportunity.

The public must see this.

And they will, because she hears the loud whirring of the helicopter blades closing in. Millions (if not more) of eyes are trained on her through the cameras equipped on the aircraft. That’s the deal. They need to broadcast what happens next faithfully.

They don’t pretend to understand her plan, but they are desperate to trust. Trillions of dollars and nearly the entirety of downtown New York can be wiped in one large supernatural wave of hand, and they cannot risk more.

Percy had already destroyed a couple bridges and the docks. Insignificant to the potential scale of destruction he can incur, but already more than the city is willing to give. This is not even accounting for the lives at stake.

There’s too much to lose. The potential of a solution is enough for them to obey her wishes.

Annabeth doesn’t look down. She taps her right foot briefly against the cold hard steel of the building, feeling the cold air of the spring blowing against her face.

She has a lot of regrets, but in the last seconds, all Annabeth wishes for is that her father doesn’t have his television on. She does not want him to see this.

cxlv.

She jumps.

**:,))) Hope that you all are doing well! And look what I made!**

****

**Yes, it's true -- by popular demand, ylml now exists as a hard copy! Since I finished the draft months ago, I got it through a couple rounds of professional editing and bounded it. This copy contains more content than the original version here on AO3, and an additional ~12 or so pieces of never seen before illustrated pieces.**

**If you want one, you can let me know. Unfortunately, this is not commercially available for purchase due to copyright issues. I will close the limited run in a week -- thanks all :)**


	30. distant rhythm of the drum (as we drifted towards the storm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as long as we're together

"The ups and the sundowns

And a twisting mind

If I gotta go first

I'll do it on my terms "

~ _Ladder Song_ by Lorde

* * *

**[Discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) | [Instagram (starlinks.art)](https://www.instagram.com/starlinks.art) | [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=-xFHW5GIRROWwAlaWghkeA)**

8.5

She’s falling. 

*

Annabeth knows she’s falling, fast, and she calculates. 

There is about eight and a half seconds before she dies. She is counting on the fact that he shows, that he'll take her hand, wreck her "plan" and be her man.

Or maybe Perseus will not show. Maybe he will simply pull her from the air and teleport her to somewhere else directly, but that would defeat the purpose of this incredibly performative stunt. He should know that she will just have to repeat something like this again.

She prays, with no specific deity in mind. 

To Thetis, _maybe_. 

8.

Maybe she should have thought this more thoroughly. 

It was really, really difficult to convince these humans that she’s actually on their side, but these mortals are desperate.

Annabeth is desperate too.

Will he show? Or is she going to die for nothing? 

She’s been flying a little too close to the sun for the most of her life, and although she is no stranger to falling, Annabeth never actually thought that she’d die because of one. Not after Tartarus.

Is it her flaring arrogance that carries the belief for her to think that she is immune to death from one of these stunts? 

Once, the daughter of Athena has fallen for what felt like days on her way to Tartarus. Has she not learned from that? 

She thinks of the blackness and the loneliness of that experience, and relives it for a second. 

Since that time, Annabeth has thought about death so much it’s like a memory. But now, she is staring it in the face: what do her friends think of this? Is this what they tried to warn her about? Is this the destruction that Grover was alluding to when he whispered words of caution in her ear at Camp before she set off on her quest with Piper and Calypso? 

That feels like a lifetime ago.

7.

“What the hell are you thinking?” He pops into existence and falls next to her, demanding with fury. Annabeth can sense his anger rolling off of him in semi-tangible waves. She can actually see it, bile colored, and feel it roll past her skin. It’s fascinating.

He feels different – more _omniscient_ , if that’s the word – but it’s not the time to be pedantic.

Annabeth wants to blink in surprise because she was half-convinced that he was never going to show, but he is holding her with his right arm and is milliseconds away from teleporting her to safety. She harnesses the element of surprise by acting quickly and snapping a cuff firmly on his right wrist.

The other end was snapped on her own left wrist.

Her fate is sealed.

6.

He curses more than she has ever heard anyone curse in the world.

It is so comical she wants to laugh and explain how she is _orchestrating a love story to salvage his reputation and save him_ , but there’s a painful lump in her throat, and the wind whipping her hair all around her face is harsh. She thinks of the night they met, at that bar, _Wonderwall_ playing in the background, and Annabeth finally realizes who she’s trying to find so hard in all these years. 

She is like the water when his ship rolled in that night: rough on the surface, but he cuts through her like a knife. Not in a bad way, no: he reaches straight into her heart and vulnerabilities and burrowed himself deep within her hopes and dreams. Percy became a part of her and the love they share means more than anything that has ever existed to her.

The dreams Annabeth has had in the past of an alternative life -– they must have been real. Maybe not to her, but they are to another Annabeth, somewhere, sometime. It’s just that in this life, she had to carry the burden of these wars alone, because Percy is needed to combat the threat of poisoned mortal beliefs, and he has to do so as a god.

At least they still found each other. That’s one of the only immutable tenants in all the universes there ever are. All the Percys and all the Annabeths always find each other, no matter what.

It may be a trick of the light, of the wind, of her consciousness, but Annabeth almost swears that she sees one of the Fates nod at her out of the very corner of her eye.

5.

If she chose to be a god, that would have been the last choice that she ever makes.

Instead, she _chooses_ to live. 

But did she live? Did she serve her purpose in the world working as one of the architects in her firm? Was it better than the alternative? Has she made an error because she felt like she didn’t deserve eternity when her friends all died as heroes? 

Now the daughter of Athena is making yet another choice; Janus has warned her of this that day by the crossroads and she hadn’t even known. 

Annabeth’s made her own bed and now she has to lie in it, but is this the right choice? Is this her legacy?

What will she be known for? Maybe not for the buildings she helped design and build, but maybe as a lost little girl trying to fix the reputation of someone she loves. She’ll be known as the one who tried to save the world from the god she loves.

Would a younger Annabeth choose this? _Surely not._ She wants to build something permanent, but maybe that permanence comes at a steep price that she is ultimately unwilling to pay until she is forced to. And then it's already too late.

In any case, why is her mind meandering with these thoughts, anyways? Maybe it all doesn’t matter, because Annabeth is just a human, and humans like to derive meaning out of nothingness and life, and in any case, she’s reading too much into all of this, as she tends to, so that she doesn’t have to think about how he’d hate her after this.

4.

There are a million ways that Perseus can get out of this: he can reveal his true form and vaporize her and kill any onlookers. He can probably call upon another god for help.

But Perseus doesn’t. 

He tugs and tugs and he looks murderously frustrated, but she can also see so much fear in his eyes. His expression shifts; it is so different from the creature’s she saw on television just days ago. This one reminds her of who he was before.

The fear is not logical. He doesn’t have anything to be afraid of; it’ll be a painful landing for him, but he can’t die. Apollo will be more than happy to fix him up. She closes her eyes when something else emerges from his features.

It was some hints of the tenderness she’s missed, still mixed with some raw anger. She can’t bear to see it.

Another realization hits and she finally understands. Annabeth is Perseus’ true Achilles heel. And the Fates – they have determined that already a long time ago. 

3.

“I love you.” She says, because that’s what she wants him to hear before she dies.

Annabeth hopes that the fall doesn’t hurt him that much, beyond stopping him and shocking the monster in him to realize what he’s nearly done. The massive pool of belief from mortals has elevated his power levels far beyond what it was, and it’s distorted his being into a twisted shadow of what he was before. 

The fear, the awe, the respect… She doesn’t need her mortal friends to tell her; she saw all this on the internet herself. 

She has no doubt that he’s glaring at her, betrayed, furious, but Annabeth doesn’t look up. She doesn’t want to see the accusing glare in his stormy hurricane eyes. He’ll forgive her one day.

Annabeth can feel the heat from her left wrist, emitting energy as the cuff fought against Perseus for control. 

There’s no use. The cuffs were once used on Aphrodite and Ares, and even _Zeus_ , and a few giants during the War, and it’s been effective in containing all of them.

Her right arm brushes the top of her pocket. 

There’s a slip of paper that she’s been carrying around. 

It’s a silly thing she’s drawn up –- the plans of what she wanted to build one day in Alaska. Maybe it had been foolish for her to think that she could abandon everything she had ever known and just go to Alaska; maybe it was even more foolish for her to think that she could convince him to come, but it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? 

Media would have a fun time examining that when she becomes a little more than a stain on the sidewalk in another couple of seconds. 

2.

“You’re an idiot, Wise Girl.” He says, and her heart blooms.

 _Is he back?_

She feels the cuffs cool, and he stops struggling against it.

An arm slips around her waist, pulling her close. He tries to envelop her, and she twists to look at him, tears in her eyes.

“I love you.”

He says it back to her.

1.

There isn’t more to say to him. 

Annabeth looks at him and tries to commit his face to her memory. She’ll bring it along with her to her next life. 

She feels the barest hint of his lips on hers; she didn’t think that she would experience that ever again, to be honest. Annabeth feels lucky that she has this memory, too, though she won’t be able to keep it. 

She’ll skip Elysium and go directly to the Lethe to try for rebirth, if Hades and the rest of the gods are not too angry at her to cast her into an eternity in Tartarus after this little stunt. And he’ll probably be okay. He won’t die, and this should humanize him a lot more in the eyes of the mortals. They would see that he isn’t exempt from loss and love. This will save him. 

Time is running out, and there’s nothing else for her to think about except that she doesn’t regret choosing him. 

_I’ll find you again_ , she promises herself. _You’re not getting away from me that easily, Seaweed Brain._

Annabeth closes her eyes. She almost sees an image of him, reaching out to her from the Styx.

0.

.

.

.

A pair of smoking, broken cuffs lay on the pavement on a deserted street in Manhattan. It’s 34th and Fifth, just a few blocks away from her apartment.

It’s quiet, but she knows the whole world is watching. Annabeth wants to smile gracefully, nod to the camera, dance in victory, but all she can do is sit in relief and try her best to control her hitching breaths.

“Hey,” he says, extending a hand to her. “Need any help getting up?”

She takes it, smiles, appreciating how the winds subsided, leaving some peaceful skies in their wake. Percy’s eyes look so human.

“I’ve missed you,” she admits.

“I know; I’m sorry.” He says, “thank you for saving me.”

A pause.

“You are the answer, that’s what _they_ meant.”

Annabeth smiles lightly in acknowledgement, feeling a little more performative than she ought to. “Does it mean that you owe me a kiss?”

He laughs, and it’s a different sound than before – a lot sadder, but mixed with a lot of relief, too – then he leans in and kisses her. He tastes a little like the future, her mind briefly slips to the fact that maybe a billion or two can see such a private moment of theirs (and it’s more than a little performative), but it doesn’t matter anymore. 

They’re finally going to leave this all behind.

**Wow. I can't believe that this is the last official chapter of ylml. It's been a fucking ride. For extra artworks, hop on my[Discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) or IG (starlinks.art) to take a look.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey... So. I can't believe that this is it. The last chapter. I started this fic a little over 8 months ago because one night (at like 2am... on a work night), I was inspired to write a short "what-if" for my god!Percy AU that I've been building in my head for the past 10 years. Then, the morning after, I got another idea of how they could keep meeting. And meeting. And meeting. And soon, the fic spun a little out of control. I kept collecting any quotes and lyrics that remind me of the two in this universe, and obsessed over how this AU's Annabeth would be, and what I would do if I were her.  
> Life got really hard. Really, really hard. But not as bad as 2017 when I finished the fic Wonderwall. Still, there's been all kinds of losses that I'd experienced in the past few months, and I know a number of you experienced something similar too. I'm sorry about all that. I am optimistic that, with some luck, things will get better soon.  
> I don't want this to be that final, but it's a goodbye for a while. Writing this story had been very intensive and exhaustive for me, emotionally. I am not a demigod, and I don't have a "love of my life," but some of Annabeth's experiences were extrapolated from my own. That isolation, loneliness, battle with reputation, grief, homesickness... I don't think I'd be able to express these emotions that potently in this fic, with Annabeth as their vessel, if I haven't been through lands that taste distinctively similar.  
> After this, I may post a ylml-extra here and there once in a while. Maybe they will mostly live on my Discord, not sure yet. But mostly, I'm taking a bit of a sabbatical. I just need to recharge. Hopefully the next time I return with another long-fic is not six years later, the length between this and Wonderwall, but you never know.
> 
> With any luck, I'll address you all again shortly if you lot vote for an epilogue. But if not -- then it's been a damn pleasure. I go through a lot of lengths to answer every single one of your reviews & interact however I can because that was really something that got me through. So, thank you. Thank you.


	31. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the "happily ever after"
> 
> i'll see you guys there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending was intentionally vague, but no -- Annabeth did not die. Annabeth's choice and love redeemed some of Percy's reputation, enough for him to reel himself back in. Her loyalty is also potent enough to lend him power so that he breaks the cuffs.
> 
> It is a "happy ending," so to speak, but there is actually a hidden layer of tragedy. In the beginning of ylml, Annabeth tried SO GOD DAMN HARD to build up her life and sure, she wasn't fully happy, but she's lived enough to figure out that "normal is good, normal is happy". Even though she did not die, everything has changed. Is it worth it? She'd probably say so if you ask her, but it's still sad. There are still parts of her (she just started to heal her relationship with her dad, and then there are friends who she's wanted to see more, and Sally -- Annabeth never got to see her again) that she's leaving behind. Forever. So yeah
> 
> Still, it is a /happy/ ending. You don't just get to have everything work out magically in real life. That's not how it works. This is as happy as it gets -- and perhaps there's something to learn from this

"Back to the sea

Through the glass I fall

Back to my sea

The greatest fall of all"

~ _Back To The Sea_ by Adam & Alma

* * *

**[Discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) | [Instagram (starlinks.art)](https://www.instagram.com/starlinks.art) | [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10lgxPPMOl7dES0LNdbk6o?si=-xFHW5GIRROWwAlaWghkeA)** **|** **[Hardcopy (click to email me)](mailto:aurorasun1997@gmail.com)**

**Both pieces by windbyfire.**

The waters are calm, cold, and serene.

Annabeth drags her paddle across the water in a graceful arc.

It’s quiet in the morning, and she enjoys having the time to think by herself. It’s so peaceful. While the water is much too cold for her to dip in any time of the year, it’s warm enough in the summer for her to enjoy kayaking in the stretch of the sea by her house.

A laugh sounds next to her, and a splash interrupts her concentration.

“Percy,” she rolls her eyes and raises her voice, “I know you’re down there.”

Another splash, and two pairs of sea green eyes look back at her.

“You brought Everett?” She asks, incredulous, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Please make sure that he doesn’t catch a cold. The water is freezing.”

“Everett has never gotten sick in his life, Wise Girl. It’s okay,” Percy says, before turning to his son. “Ev, show your mom what you can do,” Percy says to the black haired boy. The ten year old looks to Annabeth for permission, and she nods slightly, wondering what her son’s new trick is this time.

Everett raises his arms, and the water follows him. He lets it climb, climb, climb, until it encloses around them.

When the water surrounds them fully, he closes his right fist and the water freezes. It is very, very familiar to Annabeth -- her son has recreated their house with ice. The details are vivid; even the family photos on the fireplace are carved out.

“How —”

“Dad says you’d like it! Do you like it?”

“This is really impressive, baby. I love it!” 

Everett seems beyond pleased with himself, he dips the bottom half of his face into the water so it hides his blush. 

“Maybe one day I’ll get to build you a house, mom.”

“I’d love that, sweetie.”

Annabeth loves her son more than anything in the world. However, she can’t help but think about the daughter she would have had with Percy in another world. In this universe, Sophie only exists in her dreams and in her heart.

*

Annabeth catches her reflection in the water when she steps out of her kayak.

“I look so old,” a few wrinkles have made their way to her face over the years.

“Don’t insult me,” Percy says, kissing the corner of her mouth and hoisting the kayak on his shoulders. “You look beautiful.”

Annabeth huffs. “I guess you don’t look too bad yourself.”

Percy laughs.

“If this form and this physical age is your favorite, you should have said this a long time ago,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Hm, you know you love it.”

“Yeah, I do. I love you.” Annabeth says softly.

Percy clears his throat, putting down the kayak in their garage, but not putting it away quite yet. He turns towards her.

“Annabeth, I am wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I pricked myself shaving this morning.” Percy touches his chin, where Annabeth can see a sliver of gold.

“Ah,” so his invulnerability is fading. Percy is only invincible when he is in Alaska: still immortal, though. As they have observed over the years, Percy does not age as they initially thought that he might here.

Supposedly, the only way that Percy can be hurt is if his Achilles heel is hit; if his curse is no longer in effect, it can only mean that —

“It seems like the powers of Olympus are shifting, maybe the United States is no longer the heart of western civilization anymore.” Percy confirms her thought, “Alaska may not be the Land beyond the Gods soon. My divinity is showing itself.”

“The other gods will be able to find us,” Annabeth realizes. Horror draws on her features, “are you leaving?”

Percy shakes his head. “No. Never. But… I am wondering if you’d like to rethink the immortality option for yourself. It’d be easier.”

“Are you proposing to me, Perseus?” Annabeth teases, not directly addressing the dual meaning of ‘ease’ that Percy is suggesting. He blushes.

It’d be easier for him, for them, if they know that her death won’t the be end of their story. And it’d be easier if he doesn’t have to worry about Everett’s and her safety from the other gods.

And the _easiest_ way to justify her immortality to other deities would be marriage. It’s something that he’s avoided broaching for the last fifteen years out of respect for her – and she appreciates.

“I just want to make sure you’re safe. And maybe because I’m still selfish in hoping that you might still want to spend forever with me.”

“Forever is a long time.”

“I know.”

“What about Everett?”

“I’d make him a god, too. He’s almost one, anyways. I know you can feel that power in him.”

Annabeth sighs. She knows relocating would be difficult; there is no tell to where the next godly blind spot is on Earth, and the change will yield lots of unpredictable stability that they are not equipped to face and guarantee security.

The only other option is to hide beneath the waves in the sea, but that’s not the way to live a life. That’s not the way for her to live her life, even though she made an irrevocable choice that landed them in Alaska, so that they don’t have to deal with the other beings’ perspectives anymore.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You will?” His eyes light up.

“No promises,” she says, biting her lip. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Okay, okay.” He says. “In the meantime – lunch?” He takes an apple off of a shelf and tosses it to her casually.

“Lunch.” Annabeth confirms, catching the fruit. It is a vessel of promise: a promise they’ve made to each other. Immortal or not, Annabeth Chase got to build something permanent after all. 

**Thank you, thank _you_. You all mean more to me than I can ever express. I'm so grateful. I hope that each of you have a safe and happy holidays season. **

**Stay tuned for more ylml content in the coming days; I will be updating them here. In the meantime, I'll be hanging around in my[Discord](https://discord.gg/8Qmdvn4) server (we have a ~150 member community!) & [hosting my ylml writing challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ylml_scars_challenge) there :) **

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [and i can see us (twisted in bedsheets)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832986) by [starlinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlinks/pseuds/starlinks), [talesafterdark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesafterdark/pseuds/talesafterdark)
  * [caught up in the riptide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995877) by [nokreli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokreli/pseuds/nokreli)
  * [come out and haunt me (i know you want me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002993) by [bodytoflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodytoflame/pseuds/bodytoflame)




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